Courage to Suffer
by Firebirdd
Summary: Just as Neil and Grace were beginning to settle into their new roles, they find that getting together is often easier than staying together. Featuring Jake Manson.
1. Jailbreak

**Title:** The Courage to Suffer

**Rating:** T

**Pairings:** Neil/Grace

**Summary:** Just as Neil, Grace and Jake settle into their new roles, they find that getting together was a lot easier than staying together.

**Disclaimer: **Talkback Thames, not I, hold the rights to the Bill.

**Content Warnings:** profanity in later chapters; mature content relating to serious health conditions

**Author's Note:** Hello! This is the long planned conclusion to my Reaching Normality tale. It chronologically follows The Great Shenanigans, but there is no need to read that to read this. The title of this story comes from a quote by an Austrian neurologist and psychiatrist, Dr Viktor Frankl. The full quote reads thus: "But there was no need to be ashamed of tears, for tears bore witness that a man had the greatest of courage, the courage to suffer." Proving I am incapable of writing short tales, this story is nearly finished and is approximately 14 000 words long. So buckle up! I hope you enjoy it.

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><p>It had been even easier than Jake had thought . Mrs Wilkinson was too busy trying to stop Corey and Luke from fighting each other with the toy swords they'd bought at the museum while trying to herd everyone onto the buses that it was easy for Jake to slip away. Conor, busy engaged in misdirecting Mr Patterson, grinned over the teacher's shoulder at him.<p>

Jake checked his watch. It was already 12.20pm (they were running _really_ late).

It was exactly like Uncle Ricky always said: "walk with your head high like you belong, and nobody will notice you." Mum had always disapproved of Uncle Ricky's advice.

As Jake walked through the halls of St. Hugh's, nobody even looked twice at him, despite the incongruity of a Dulwich school blazer in those corridors during a school day. He took a slight detour on the familiar walk to the children's wards, spending a good five minutes or so scrubbing his hands, arms (and his face just in case) spotlessly clean.

The only tricky bit was managing to avoid the nurses' gazes once he did get to the Children's Wing. If Ellie or Erica saw him, he was done for. His luck held, though, and within no time he'd sat down in the seat next to Tim's bed.

"Jake," his friend smiled weakly, but with his customary good humour. "You're late. Thought you weren't going to make it!"

"Wild horses couldn't keep me away," Jake reminded him. "How you doing today?"

Tim sighed and shrugged. "Y'know how it is," he said bravely. Jake smiled sadly at him and reached out to pat his friend on the arm.

"Cards? You promised to teach me that game you played with your dad in here," Tim suggested after a beat, gesturing to a worn-out deck of Doctor Who playing cards on his bedside table. Jake obediently fetched them, shuffling the cards before setting them up just like Dad did as he quickly explained the game.

"Hey, Jake," Tim casually began a few rounds later.

"Mmm," Jake frowned as he rearranged his hand.

"You ever...you know... thought about having kids?" Tim asked hesitantly.

Jake looked up in surprise.

"Kids?" he repeated. Tim nodded. "Um...I don't know. I mean, that's kind of...that's kind of what you do right? Grow up, have girlfriends, eventually marry one, and have a kid?"

"Yeah...do you want to do that?" Tim pursued his question. Jake paused for a second to think.

"I think so," he replied with a shrug. "I'd make sure I got the right girl first; I'm never getting divorced, but yeah. I guess. Why?"

"Dr Lawson told me that I might not be able to have kids anymore," Tim's words came out quickly, accompanied by a flood of vague discomfort mixed with some relief.

"Oh," Jake said, searching for words. "Um...are you okay?"

"I don't know. I was just...just wondering if you were going to have kids," Tim muttered. "I mean, I'd always thought I would."

"Well, you're gonna be my kids' godfather," Jake promised after a beat. "My godfather's like a second dad to me...you'd be great at it! Anyway," he continued with a wave of his hand. "With that IVF thing, there's bound to be some way for you to have kids."

Tim perked up. "Hey, you're right," he said, a hopeful grin spreading back across his face. "That must be able to fix it! Maybe Dr Lawson just doesn't know about it."

"Yeah! She can't know everything, right?" Jake concurred, returning the grin.

The moment that ensued was silent, and both boys began to feel acutely uncomfortable.

"2 kings," Tim announced, recommencing the game, much to their relief.

* * *

><p>"Guv," Jack looked up at the knock to see his DI at the door. "Got a sec?"<p>

"What is it, Neil?" Jack said, waving the younger man into a seat. His brow furrowed as he noticed that the DI was uncharacteristically fidgety.

"I got a job offer," Neil said abruptly after a beat. "DCI with MIT. I'd be in charge of the team for this area."

"Oh," Jack was surprised, both at how out of the blue it seemed, and at how disappointed he felt. "You're taking it, aren't you?"

Neil nodded. There was a long pause, before Jack chuckled.

"Just thinking, if someone had told me eight years ago that I'd be sad to see the back of you I think I'd have laughed them out of my office," he said, as Neil looked askance at him. "Congratulations, you deserve it."

Neil returned the smile. "No, I've well, enjoyed working here...once you and I sorted ourselves out, but I think it's time to move on."

"Grace," Jack nodded. "Well, that will be easier to manage."

"And Jake," Neil nodded. "The DCI job..."

"More admin than front-line," Jack completed, speaking from bitter experience. Neil had been a very hands-on DI, which he'd appreciated.

"Just gives me that flexibility while he's still in maintenance," Neil added. "I love the hands on-stuff, but I think...It's unfair to you, to have a DI who needs as much time off as I do, and comes with the extra burden of being unable to be put in charge of one of the DCs. As a DCI I'd have more paperwork than legwork, which I can do at home if need be. The Super in charge is aware of my situation. Plus, I could use the raise with a teenager in the house!" Jack laughed knowingly.

"Didn't know you were looking for a new job," he commented idly. "How long do I have to find a new DI?"

"We talked about it at the Christmas party, remember?" Neil sounded amused. "I hadn't realised you were quite so deep in your cups. There's some time yet; they've hired me as the replacement for Rowan Morrell – you remember her?"

"Of course!" Jack protested, scratching his head as he tried to remember the Christmas party. "Why's Morell off?"

"Maternity leave. She wants a year off, then she was looking at a job at Hendon. Doesn't want to be working in homicide with a young baby," Neil replied.

"That's right, I remember her coming up, saying hello, then dragging you off somewhere," Jack said with an air of vindication. As he recalled, that was right before Mickey had challenged him to a drinking contest, the rules of which remained hazy.

"Yeah, she recommended me," Neil said. "Baby's due in late March, but I'll be starting earlier than that."

"We've a while-" Jack was interrupted by Neil's phone.

"Sorry, guv," he said distractedly, staring at the screen. "Neil Manson. No. Yes, he was going on that trip, but he was supposed to go back to the school – are you sure he's not with Sister? Okay. Okay. I think – no, I think I know where he'll be. Yes, I'll call back. Bye."

He hung up, and quickly hit a speed dial number.

"Ellie, hi," he said once the new call connected. "It's Neil Manson. I'm just wondering if my son happens to be visiting Tim Saunders? Thanks."

* * *

><p>Their peaceful game was interrupted by Lewis' entrance.<p>

"Ellie," he called down the corridor. "He's here."

"What's going on?" Tim asked. Jake felt his stomach open up into a deep pit.

Lewis ignored the ill boy, focussing his attention on the other. "Your dad's not very happy with you. The school called him, mate, they were looking all over for you."

"Well, he found me didn't he?" Jake muttered sullenly.

"I don't think that is the point, Jake, nor do I think he'll see it that way," Lewis said in grim amusement.

Lewis' prediction was shown to be true a mere ten minutes later. Tim sighed, laying back against his pillows as he heard Dr Lawson's familiar heels with Mr Manson's displeased voice. Jake looked to the door as well, his jaw hardening.


	2. Caught in the Act

**Author's Note: **Thank you for the reviews!

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><p>Tim couldn't help wishing, guilty as it made him feel, that Mr Manson and Jake would have their fight somewhere else. The last ten minutes had not been very fun; Jake had been sullen and jumpy, and Tim was really very tired. A headache began to build, and he wished somewhat plaintively for Jake to be gone.<p>

"Boys," Dr Lawson greeted the two with her unique combination of warmth and brisk professionalism.

"Hi Dr Lawson," Tim replied dutifully. Jake remained silent, too busy glaring at his dad who stared back impassively.

"Hi Dr Lawson," Jake echoed reluctantly a few seconds later, dropping his gaze.

"We need to have a little chat –"

"It was my idea," Tim interrupted the doctor. "I made Jake do it."

"No he didn't!" Jake looked appalled at his friend's words. "It was my idea. It's not Tim's fault."

Dr Lawson couldn't restrain a smile. "It's not a matter of apportioning blame," she said. "But this can't happen again. Boys, we don't restrict visitors because we want to. Trust me, I know how awful this hospital can get after a while, but there's a very good reason for keeping visiting hours restricted."

"We weren't going to be long," Jake protested.

"Honey, it's out of visiting hours because it's rest-time and it's important that all the patients here are sufficiently rested," Dr Lawson said. "We don't mandate it, as you recall; it's merely that almost everyone has a nap around now." Including, she thought with amusement, some of the medical staff.

"Not to mention, Jake, how absurd it is for an eleven year old schoolboy to skip class and roam around south London," Neil spoke up for the first time since entering the room. Jake shrank back in his chair reflexively at his father's tone. He was in big trouble. "Those concerns are secondary, however, to Tim's health."

"I bet you're feeling pretty tired now, Tim," Dr Lawson agreed.

"Bit," Tim admitted. He really did feel awful; he hadn't slept well the previous night despite the increased dose of morphine, and he was unaccustomed to not having his nap. The discussion with Jake had also been draining.

"I'm sorry, Tim," Jake said in a low voice, staring at his hands. He could hear the strain in his friend's voice, and part of him wondered if maybe he'd pushed the idea of visiting Tim a bit too far.

"Do you understand, boys?" Dr Lawson asked. They mumbled affirmatively, and she sighed. "Okay, I need you both to look me in the eye and promise me, _promise me_, you won't try this again."

"I promise," Tim agreed immediately. It had seemed like a good idea at the time, but he really felt pretty rotten now.

"I promise," Jake said, more reluctantly a moment after. He'd just been trying to help!

"Good," Dr Lawson held their gazes for a moment longer. She looked to Neil, evidently satisfied with the boys' promises. Neil nodded to her, before switching his attention to Jake.

"Collect your things, and say your farewells," he said in a tone that brooked no argument. Jake dutifully did as he was told, and the two adults retreated closer to the door.

"I am terribly sorry about all of this," Neil apologised again. "Rest assured, he will be punished."

"No harm done, I think," Dr Lawson said more lightly, hesitating slightly. It really wasn't her place to comment, but... "I hope that you won't stop Jake from coming in. He really does wonders for Tim's mood, and I know Steve and Carol are glad that Tim's friends still come around."

Neil was slightly taken aback. He hadn't realised his anger was so obvious. "Of course I won't," he said honestly. He'd dismissed the thought as soon as it had crossed his mind; it had seemed to him to be far too cruel to both boys. He couldn't deprive Tim of any comfort, not now.

"Good," Dr Lawson debated urging the man in front of her to be merciful, but she thought that would definitely be overstepping.

"Bye, Timmy," Jake was saying.

"Bye, Jake, thanks for visiting," Tim smiled warmly at his friend. "And for ... everything. See you again?"

Jake paused suddenly, turning to face his dad with a mixture of pleading, anger and questioning.

Neil nodded. "We'll be along again on Thursday, as usual," he promised. He started and finished work an hour earlier, buying the boys a solid hour together [which was all Tim could really manage in his condition anyway].

Relief passed over both young faces, and after a quick half-hug, Jake trailed reluctantly out the door behind his father.

"Dad, I-"

"We'll discuss it after work, Jake," Dad's tone was frosty.

* * *

><p>The rest of their trip had been spent in silence, with Jake staring out the window while Neil's knuckles whitened over the steering wheel. The detente was only broken as Neil punched in the code allowing him into the inner corridors of the station.<p>

"Have you eaten?" Neil's tone was uncharacteristically brisk towards his son.

"Not hungry," Jake muttered sullenly. A heavy sigh from his father accompanied this response.

"As you wish," Neil herded his son directly up the stairs and to his office.

"Why's Jake here then?" Mickey looked up, confused. "Isn't it s'posed to be school time?"

"Maybe he's hurt?" Stevie blurted out in concern. She liked the boy.

"He's fine, for now," the latter half of the DI's sentence was mumbled as their boss stepped out of his office, a sullen pre-teen left inside. "He was staging an intervention at St Hugh's."

"For that mate of his?" Jo asked, vaguely recalling something Grace had mentioned. Neil nodded.

"What?" Terry asked articulately.

"One of his friends from...um...the initial," Neil waved his hand. "In hospital –"

"Sounds like the hallmark of a good friend to me, visiting you in hospital," Mickey said. Far too cheerfully, and Stevie couldn't help but marvel that despite near a decade working with the DI, Mickey could still be so naive.

"Jake should know better than to go gallivanting about London, skipping school and potentially introducing harmful diseases into a seriously immunocompromised boy's room," Mickey visibly wilted at the cold tone and glare he received from the DI.

"Sir," Nate's voice rang across CID, causing everyone to look over at the PC. "There's been a second carjacking, this time down Foxton Lane." Neil moved over to look at the report the PC held out to him.

"He's going to be a right laugh this afternoon," Jo murmured, smirking triumphantly at her former CID colleagues. "Enjoy. I'd better get back before Smithy starts looking for me."


	3. Catching Up

**Author's Note: **Thank you for the reviews! One person asked where Grace was - a valid question that will be answered here! Just to let you all know, the first half of the story will focus more on Jake and Neil, while the latter half will focus on Grace and Neil's relationship a bit more in light of some of the upcoming challenges. Please let me know what you're enjoying, and what you aren't!

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><p>"Hello," Grace called, dropping her keys on the front table, and moving automatically to the kitchen.<p>

Neil banged a pot of boiling water onto the stovetop. Predictably, he issued a curse in the next second as some of the water splashed him. Hissing, he moved back to the sink and ran his arm under cold water. Ah. He was really, _really_ pissed off. Stevie's awkward warning to her as she came upstairs after a day spent chasing false leads hadn't been an exaggeration.

"Hi, honey."

Neil patted his arm dry on a towel and grunted.

_Great_, Grace rolled her eyes, setting her handbag down on the counter. He was going to be like _that_.

"How was your day, oh, it was great thanks," she said dryly, hopping up on the counter. Neil snapped the spaghetti in half with unnecessary force before dumping it into the pot.

"How was your day?" he asked begrudgingly.

"Better than yours, apparently," Grace decided to let it go. "What happened?"

"You mean you don't already have the entire story from Stevie or one of the others?" Neil often made that remark, but it was tempered with dry affection and resignation. Usually. Tonight, he was just being petulant. "What did you get out of that run-around with Mel anyway? Any arrests?"

"Hey, don't take this out on me, Neil," Grace snapped. He didn't need to know that Stevie had in fact given her a pretty good account of what had happened. It wasn't like she'd _asked_ Stevie.

"You're right, I'm sorry," Neil sighed, turning to face her properly for the first time since she'd arrived home. "You know how he had that trip to the Museum? Well, instead of going back on the bus he took advantage of the chaos and caught a bus to St Hugh's instead. School called me in the middle of his sixth period to ask where the hell he was. I rang St Hugh's, they confirmed he was there, I went and picked him up."

"Okay," Grace said slowly as Neil had paused and seemed to require a response from her. "How's Tim?"

Neil sighed, rubbing both hands over his face. "Not good," he said, voice slightly muffled by his hands. "I called Steve earlier...none of the family are matches, and while they're waiting for the bone marrow registry – should be back Wednesday or Thursday, they're going for a 'final assault' as he called it. He's a mess, and all I could do was apologise for my son's inability to understand basic visiting restrictions."

"What did he say about it?"

"No harm done, he was quite gracious, but that's not the point, is it?"

"I'd say it's exactly the point," Grace paused. "Have you spoken to Jake about the, um, prognosis?"

"Well, I was going to, but we got into a fight," Neil admitted somewhat sheepishly. "I think he's hitting his teenage melancholy and self-angst early."

"What happened?" Grace asked resignedly.

"Apparently, I 'don't understand', I'm 'ruining his life', I'm 'like, as controlling as Attila the Hun' –" Grace couldn't resist snorting at that one, but quickly schooled her expression at Neil's glare. "I'm also 'insensitive', 'out of touch', and 'just mean'."

"Jake's really scraping the bottom of the angst drawer if 'mean' is his closing insult," Grace said dryly. "I might need to lend him some of mine."

Neil retained enough perspective to see the humour in her comment, giving her a half-hearted smile. "Please don't," he said. "I'm sure yours were far more cutting."

"Slightly more creative, certainly," Grace admitted easily.

"Anyway, I've disconnected him from the internet, banned him from television and all of his games consoles for two weeks," Neil turned the conversation serious again. "He's been sulking in his room for a nearly an hour now."

"And you haven't spoken to him about Tim?" Grace checked.

"No, I told you," Neil started angrily, but Grace rolled her eyes and held up her hands.

"I was checking, Neil, for god's sake!"

"No, I haven't," he bit out.

"Okay," frustration bled out into her tone. She hated being around him when he was in this mood.

Neil must have picked up on her mood, because he apologetically began in a lighter tone, "I did get the chance to speak to Jack, by the way."

Grace nodded for him to continue.

"Apparently, Weston wants to return to Sun Hill," Neil revealed. "So Jack was thinking of seeing if that would work – he'd be happy to have her back and it works well for CID, they'll get someone they know, but it's still a change." He narrowed his eyes at his girlfriend, who was shifting as if she wanted to say something but was unsure. "What is it?"

"Look, I don't mean...Rachel's nice and everything..." Grace began, somewhat uncertainly. It was hard to know where to draw the line at bringing work home.

"Will she be able to keep you lot in line?" Neil guessed. Grace shrugged and nodded.

"Rumours from uniform," she said carefully.

"Jack asked me to keep an eye on her for a while when she was first moved up," Neil said candidly. "It's never easy being promoted from within. I can't say she was the best Inspector we've had – but then again, Gina's shoes were always going to be big to fill. Hopefully with a year and a half more experience under her belt she'll be more confident."

"Well, I'll certainly miss having you around," Grace said, the warmth of her statement catching Neil by surprise.

"Really? Even despite, you know," Neil waved his hand between the two of them.

"Well, yeah, sometimes that can be... difficult," Grace acknowledged. "But I love you. And you are good at your job, provided you're focussing right."

"And not distracted by someone who's sulking upstairs," Neil sighed, switching topics. "What do I tell him?"

"Maybe you should give yourselves some time to cool off," Grace suggested slowly. "Or he'll just tell you that's why he needed to visit today, and can't you see that's more important that school, and you'll just get angry because he's not seeing your, or Dr Lawson's point, and then he'll get angry and you'll get angrier and then you'll end up in a vicious cycle."

"Sometimes I love having a profiler as a girlfriend," Neil said wryly, with an apologetic smile.

Grace laughed and hopped off the bench. "Love you too," she said easily, wrapping her arms around him. They embraced for a long moment.

"Shall we get dinner underway?" he asked resignedly, releasing her before calling up the stairs to his son. "Jake!"

There was silence. "JAKE!" Neil bellowed.

"WHAT?" a sullen yell came from upstairs.

"DINNER!"

* * *

><p>Jake sighed, and heaved himself off his bed. He stomped into the bathroom, and washed his face, determined not to give Dad the satisfaction of seeing he'd been crying.<p>

He headed downstairs, making sure to stamp his foot as loudly as possible on each step, flopping down into his chair at the table without a word.

"I spoke to the school," Dad said after a few minutes.

"Cool," Jake drawled after a moment when it became obvious Dad wanted a response.

"You've got a week of detention, each day after school until 5pm," Dad said.

"But we promised Tim I'd visit on Thursday!" Jake couldn't believe how _unfair_ it was!

"I know," Dad held up a hand. "The school has agreed for you to do a day of detention with the boarders on Saturday morning to make up for Thursday. It might also interest you to know that your friend Conor has three days of detention for covering for you in fifth period."

Jake did feel a bit bad about Conor getting into trouble too, but Conor had agreed [in fact, it had been partly his idea].

"But Saturday is Julian's birthday party!" he wailed instead. Jake had his ninja costume all ready and everything!

"You're going to miss it," Dad said with a shrug.

"That's so unfair! That's ... that's...bullshit!" a thrill passed through him at his own bravery. Dad hated it when he swore.

"You watch your mouth, young man, or I'll wash your mouth out with soap," Dad snapped, waving his fork at him.

Jake shut his mouth quickly, but felt that he'd made his point. Silence reigned for several long minutes.

"How was the museum?" Dad kind of grunted, after Grace had shot him another look.

"Fine," Jake muttered sullenly. Dad rolled his eyes, and dinner continued in a stiff silence.


	4. Curtain Call

_For all the children who have fought leukaemia: we'll do even better than 80%. _

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><p>Thursday afternoon couldn't come quickly enough for Jake. He couldn't help but feel guilty as Connor trudged off for detention after school without him while he headed to the gates with the other lads. The feeling passed quickly; however, as he reminded himself that he had to be there on a Saturday to make up today's detention.<p>

Jake frowned a little when he spotted Dad's car at the pick-up area already. It was understood that Dad would get to school at 4pm, giving Jake extra time with his friends.

"Jake, come on," Mark repeated as he noticed the other boy stopping behind them. Blair McDonald, known universally as Haggis, impatiently tapped his foot.

"Sorry, guys," he shook his head. "My dad's here."

"Already? Woah, someone's in trouble," Haggis drawled. Jake shook his head at the other boy, hefting his bag back up onto his shoulder.

"See you later," he said instead. A chorus of farewells followed him as he trudged over to Dad's car, a small spate of coughing fortunately passing before he reached it.

"You're early," Jake accused, opening the back door and throwing his bag in before hopping into the front seat.

"Yeah, I thought we could have a bit of a chat," Dad said, indicating left.

"Great," Jake invested as much sarcasm as he could into the comment. Dad had more than yelled at him enough.

"Eh?" Dad asked.

"Nothin'."

* * *

><p>Dad finally pulled up at a park a few streets from the hospital, where they'd spent a fair bit of time if the doctors were running late. It was nicer than waiting inside the hospital.<p>

"Let's sit and have a chat," Dad directed them to a bench.

"What's going on?" Jake demanded; sick of the tiptoeing around Dad was doing.

"I spoke to Mr Saunders this morning," Dad started quietly. Jake immediately froze.

"Is he not letting me see Tim? Did you tell him I said sorry?" he hoped he hadn't got Tim in trouble. Tim didn't need it.

"No, that's not it. He was very forgiving when we spoke on Monday," Dad reassured him. "He mentioned then that Tim wasn't...Tim wasn't doing too well. Jake, I'm afraid he called this morning to say that the treatment's failed."

"Failed?" Jake repeated, his voice high as his stomach dropped. Dad nodded, looking grave.

"I'm very sorry, Jake," he said quietly.

"Can't they try something else?" Jake knew the answer before he even asked. He blinked tears back fiercely, and, hating the way his voice wavered, asked: "Can I still see him today?"

"Yes, Jake," Dad put an arm around his shoulders. "But, darling, I'm sorry, we won't be able to stay too long. Tim's... well, he's rather tired at the moment."

"Okay," he said quietly, nodding.

* * *

><p>"Hi, Jake, hi Mr Manson," Ellie's usually cheerful voice was somewhat subdued.<p>

"Hi Ellie," Jake said despondently.

"Afternoon, Ellie," Dad echoed. "Steve told us you might be moving Tim-"

"Yeah, he's just this way," Ellie moved out from the nurse's counter, gesturing to them to follow her. Pausing outside one of the individual rooms, she knelt down so she was at eye level with Jake.

"Now, sweetheart, has your dad already told you that you won't be able to stay long?" Jake nodded. "Good, that's because Tim will get tired quickly. Jake, if at any point you feel uncomfortable, you can leave whenever you want."

"Only stay as long as you feel comfortable doing so, son," Dad added his voice quietly, hand squeezing Jake's shoulder.

"Okay," he nodded again, and Ellie stood up, entering the room before them and heading immediately to do the obs for Tim's chart. Jake trailed after her, feeling a little guilty for how reassuring the hand on his shoulder was.

He stopped sharp in the doorway, shocked at how the appearance of his friend had changed dramatically in just a few days. Normally a stocky lad, the last vestiges of fat had been drained from his face, leaving skin hanging loose. It gave him the appearance of an old man, rather than that of a boy barely past eleven. Jake knew from experience that the bed was probably raised because he lacked the energy to sit up himself. The room was still and cold, and Jake could feel the atmosphere pressing in on him. A peculiar, stale sort of smell permeated the air. Not even Ellie, the usually upbeat and chatty nurse, spoke as she checked Tim's temperature, blood pressure and breathing.

"Timmy, Jake and Mr Manson are here," Mrs Saunders, sitting next to her son, smiled tearfully at the pair in the doorway. Her voice galvanised Jake into action, and he stepped forward to sit on the other side of the bed.

"Hey, Timmo," he forced cheer into his voice. "How's it going?" _Stupid question, you stupid boy, _he scolded himself internally.

Tim didn't seem to share his opinion, a genuine – if weak – smile spreading across his face as he forced his eyes open.

"What's up, mate?" he replied in kind.

"Just school," Jake shrugged, deciding to not mention the detentions.

"You guys are early today," Tim noted, glancing at the clock. Jake shrugged.

"Dad got out earlier than normal," he replied casually, throat tight and dry.

"Hi, Neil, Jake," Mr Saunders entered the room behind him, two coffees firmly in hand.

"Hi, Mr Saunders," Jake said, as Dad shook the other man's hand.

"What did you do in school today, Jake?" Tim asked as the adults began talking in low voices.

"We've started doing some Shakespeare," Jake began, seeing the desperation in his friend's eyes for an innocuous topic.

"Oooh, Jake the Shakespeare nerd!" Tim teased. Jake smiled.

"His insults are wicked. Some of them. Some of them are just weird," Jake confided.

"Tell, go on!" Tim urged him.

"_You are not worth another word, else I'd call you knave,_" Jake quoted, putting on the poshest accent he could and twirling his hand around like a sword.

Tim laughed. His parents looked over in concern as he began coughing, but were somewhat reassured by how he was smiling as well. "So what, you guys just read insults all day?"

"No, we have to read the whole play in class. It's boring if you don't have a part," Jake said. "Some of the guys are really good at doing funny voices."

"That doesn't sound so bad," Tim said. "Basically like another drama class?"

Jake nodded. "Mrs Ross is a pretty good teacher, like, she makes sure we understand it and stuff. And she does funny voices too."

"Sounds ace," Tim said wistfully. He paused for a second, shooting a sidelong glance at the adults who were quietly talking in the corner. They seemed lost in their own conversation. He looked back at his friend and studied him; trying to memorise every feature – the blue eyes, the dark hair, the cheeky smile. "I'm going to die, you know" he said quietly.

Jake looked down, crossing his arms. His mouth was all dry, and his palms were sticky, and his heart felt like it was made of stone. Knowing the silence was stretching on, and not wanting the adults to get involved, he forced himself to look back up at his friend. He nodded.

"T'ain't fair," he said softly, fighting to hide his anger at the injustice of it all. "I promised to take you to Spain."

"Jetskiing," Tim smiled. "Still don't believe you're allowed on your own to do that!"

"It's Spain, nobody cares," Jake said, trying to return the smile. Tim looked down, picking absently at threads on the woollen blanket from home.

"I don't wanna die," the words fell from Tim's mouth in an ashamed whisper. "I'm...I'm scared. You don't...do you think less of me?"

Tears welled up in Jake's eyes for what seemed to him to be the umpteenth time that day.

"Course not," Jake said fiercely, reaching for his friend's hand.

"Don't tell my parents," Tim pleaded. "They're so worried...I don't want them to think I wasn't brave."

"I promise," he said solemnly, squeezing Tim's hand as if to seal the deal.

"Thank you," Tim said, sinking back into the bed. "You're my best friend ever, you know."

"You're my best friend too. Always will be."

They sat in a poignant silence, Jake clutching his friend's hand. For years afterwards, the most vivid image of that visit would be of Tim's ludicrously bright green beanie, which he had stared at during that long moment, unable to bear to look at his friend's exhausted, worn features.

"Jakey, I think it's time we left," Neil's voice was gentle, and he rested a hand on Jake's shoulder.

"Sorry, mate," Tim said, forcing his eyes open again. "Just so tired."

"It's all right," Jake blinked back tears.

"Good bye, Jake," Tim whispered in the other boy's ear as they hugged goodbye. "Thank you, for everything."

"Bye, Tim," Jake scrubbed at his nose. He looked back as they reached the door in time to see his friend wave.


	5. Tension

**Author's Note**: Thank you to everyone taking the time to review. I really appreciate it :)

**Additional warning:** there be profanity ahead.

* * *

><p>The car trip was silent despite Neil's initial overture to talk. Figuring Jake needed some space, Neil turned down the volume of the radio and simply drove them back home, hoping that he'd want to talk there. As seemed to be increasingly the case, Jake did the exact opposite. Grabbing his bag, he immediately ran upstairs, ignoring Casper's enthusiastic greeting. A loud bang signalled his bedroom door had slammed. Casper whined, looking pitifully at Neil, who absently bent down to pat his head.<p>

Neil sighed, heading to the fridge to pick up a beer. Flopping down on his couch, he flipped the top off and took a long draught. Casper followed him, putting his paws up on the couch and whining again.

"I know, just give him some space," Neil said, scratching the dog behind his ears.

What was he supposed to say? He wasn't good at this stuff. Tim was going to die, and it wasn't okay, or fair, or anything like that. Nor could Neil tell him that he wasn't going to die...because, well, Jake could still relapse and die. He couldn't lie; that would just work out worse in the long run. Maybe Grace would have an idea of what to say when she got home. He glanced at the clock; it was five pm and Grace would be due back in about an hour. He settled back into the couch, turning the TV on but the sound right down as he waited.

By the time six-thirty came around there was still no sign of Grace.

"Hey, Neil, how did it go?" she answered the phone, the concern in her voice at sharp odds with the boisterous noise in the background. "I wasn't sure if you'd still be at St Hugh's."

"It went as well as you'd expect. When are you coming home?" Neil asked. There was a pause.

"It's a Thursday," Grace replied slowly. "I don't come over on Thursdays, remember?"

"Like you don't come over on Saturdays, or Mondays, yet I seem to recall you were here then," Neil countered, somewhat peevishly.

"What is this?" Grace asked defensively. She was a patient woman, and she was well aware of Neil's tendency to be a bitch in difficult emotional situations, but she was getting sick of being his verbal punching bag. "I'm never there on a Thursday so you and Jake can spend time together after visiting Tim. If you want, I can return to _not_ coming over on Saturdays and Mondays too. If that makes it easier for you to remember."

"You're right," Neil said hastily, before he got into more trouble. Nonetheless, he renewed his resolution to persuade Grace to look at houses with him once his transfer paperwork was finalised. It was ridiculous to be fighting about this. "I'm sorry."

She sighed audibly. "Besides, I'm babysitting the kids for my sister, you know, because she has to go to Ganesh's work dinner."

"I forgot," Neil admitted sheepishly. There'd been a lot going on with Jake.

"How _did_ it go today?" she asked probingly after another pause.

"They're waiting on the recent results, due back tomorrow, but he's going to ... Steve and Carol will end up taking him home," Neil sighed, unable to complete his original sentence. "They've tried...in the absence of a bone marrow donor, you know. It'd take a miracle."

"And you told Jake?" Grace asked, genuine concern colouring her voice. "How's he going?"

"Hasn't really spoken to me since I told him, but he's still pissed about Monday I think," Neil admitted, taking another draught of his second beer.

There was a pause. "Look, Neil," Grace said slowly, with the air of someone who knew she was delivering unwelcome news. "There's been a change of plans – my cousins are coming up this weekend not next. I want to catch up with them, and I think it's probably best for you and Jake that you have this weekend together, as a family, to sort things out."

"I thought... I kinda thought you were part of this family too," Neil replied after a charged pause, audibly hurt.

"Oh darling," Grace sighed. "I love both of you dearly, you know that. It's just, right now, I think you two need to sort out how you're going to deal with ... this. And as much as I think Jake and I are getting along well, at this time I think he'd just resent me being there."

"You can catch up with your cousins and still come over at night," Neil pointed out, hating himself for sounding so needy.

"What so you can bitch and moan and snap at me, then apologise, then repeat, Neil?" Grace retorted, as a loud crash sounded from her end of the line. "Shit. Look, I have to go. We can talk later."

A dial tone sounded in his ear, and Neil threw his phone on the coffee table feeling vaguely abandoned.

* * *

><p>"Guv, come on, I really think –" Stevie tried again, sighing in irritation when the DI shook his head. He'd been in a right mood from the end of last week, and had gone back to being grouchy, grumpy and bitchy to everyone.<p>

Only Banksy had dared approach Grace [after Manson's mood had failed to improve over the weekend]. Grace had, however, remained loyally tight-lipped despite the fact that things were obviously strained between her and the DI. They'd hardly spoken all day.

"You've got no evidence to pull him in on, Stevie," he insisted. "And if it is him, you could spook him off!"

"Yes, but he's our best lead, guv," Grace pointed out quietly from where she was leaning against the filing cabinets at the back of the room. Manson's jaw stiffened, but he determinedly continued to focus his attention on Stevie.

"Exactly," Mickey nodded exuberantly, pointing at Grace. "We don't got anything else –"

"Mickey, did you not finish school?" Neil demanded in frustration, switching his gaze to the younger man. "And if you don't _have_ anything else to go on –"

Stevie started automatically, pulling her phone out to check as a ring-tone sounded.

"Detective Inspector Manson," Neil snapped into his phone.

"Steve, hi. Yeah, of course," Neil's voice had suddenly softened as he went ghost-white, sinking back to sit on his desk. Out of the corner of her eye, Stevie saw that Grace had leant forward looking worried. "Oh, mate, I'm so sorry. I really am." There was a pause as the mysterious 'Steve' spoke.

"Tim? Grace mouthed more than spoke, but the DI looked up and nodded tightly anyway.

"Yeah, no, definitely, mate," Neil said. "I'm sure he'll want to. Look, if you need anything – if there's anything we can do...Yeah. I'm so sorry – please, pass our regards to Carol too. Take care." He hung up the phone, slowly placing it in his pocket. "Fuck."

"When?" Grace asked simply, not moving.

"Three am," Neil replied.

"What's happened?" Mickey asked, voice lowered. Neil and Grace exchanged glances.

"Jake's best friend, Timothy," Neil's voice was tight. "They met, you know, in the hospital. Tim's leukaemia, it relapsed and he...he died this morning."

"Was it a sudden thing?" Stevie asked, thinking from the shock writ all over the DI's face it might have been.

"No, it's rarely sudden with leukaemia. He's been deteriorating for a while now. They took him home Saturday," Neil paused, rubbing his hands over his face. "Fuck, how am I gonna tell him?"

"You won't have to, honey," Mickey's eyebrows just about shot through the roof at Grace's slip of the tongue. "He'll read it right off your face."

"Hardly reassuring," Neil replied dryly, not noticing the endearment. He looked back to Stevie and Mickey as if just realising they were still in the room. "You lot need to, uh, go back through to the witnesses. Try to get them to corroborate the victim's story. We can't arrest a prominent member of the community like that without the backing evidence."

"Yes, gov," Stevie responded, over-riding the beginning of Mickey's protestation. "Come on, Mickey."

"I've got to collect him," Neil said quietly after the two had left the office.

"You okay?" Grace asked, regarding him with concern as she stepped forward.

"Well, _my_ kid's fine," Neil shrugged casually, the tension in his voice exposing the lie.

"Good luck," there really wasn't anything else to say, Grace thought, as she reached for his hand and gave it a gentle squeeze.

"Come over tonight?" Neil asked very quietly, staring at their joined hands. "Please?"

Grace simply nodded.

Neil nodded, gaze still downcast. "See you, then," he said, squeezing her hand once before dropping it, and preceding her out the door.


	6. Release

**Author's Note**: again, thank you to all the reviewers :) Bit of a long one today - couldn't find a good place to split it.

* * *

><p>Jake sighed, absently doodling on his textbook as the rest of the class laughed uproariously at Haggis' cheeky answer to Mr Ramsay's question. He cursed inwardly when a small cough forced his pen to one side, making the rough attempt to draw Casper even more unrecognisable. Jake reflexively checked the clock; there were still five minutes of the lesson to go. Unlike most days, he felt curiously apathetic as to whether he suffered through more of geography. Even the prospect of science [his favourite subject] next failed to provide much of an incentive.<p>

"Jake," Mr Ramsay repeated.

"Sir, sorry sir," Jake reflexively straightened, but the expected lecture was not forthcoming. Instead, Mr Ramsay gave him a sympathetic smile and nodded towards the doorway. Jake could see Dad in the doorway out of the corner of his eye.

Jake's fingers tightened around his pen and he could feel his stomach drop. He quickly gathered his books without making eye contact with anyone.

"Excuse me, sir," he said tightly, books already under one arm and already halfway on his feet. Mr Ramsay's response didn't register. He exited the classroom, brushing past Dad and up a few paces so his classmates couldn't see. Finally, he turned around.

"It's Timmy, isn't it?" he whispered, gaze fixed firmly to his shoes.

Neil dropped to his knees, ignoring the hovering aide from the Principal's office who'd escorted him to the classroom.

"Yes, I'm sorry, Jake," he murmured, wrapping his arms tightly around his baby boy. "He passed away at five in the morning. His dad just called me twenty minutes ago."

Jake allowed himself a moment of weakness, clinging fiercely to his dad's neck. This didn't feel real, despite being what was expected. About the only thing that did feel real was the conviction that nobody could learn about how scared Tim was. Had been. It was the last promise he'd made, to protect Tim's reputation and make sure nobody thought he was scared.

"All right," Dad drew back despite Jake's attempts to hold onto him, and cupped Jake's face in his hands. "Now, son, there's no...as far as I know there's no template for this. So whatever you want to do, we'll do."

"Is there going to be a funeral?" Jake's mouth seemed to move of its own accord. He felt grateful at least one part of him was working right.

"Tomorrow," Dad replied. "Tim's parents invited us, but it's up to you, Jake. Don't feel obliged."

"No, I'd like to go," Jake said quietly, wiping his eyes. "But right now, can we just go home please, Daddy?"

"Of course, son," Neil said tenderly.

Continuing the recently-established trend, the drive home was silent.

* * *

><p>Exuberant barks greeted them as they stepped inside. As was his wont, Casper practically jumped onto Jake, and he felt tears well up at the sight of his puppy being so happy to see him. Desperate to make sure Dad didn't see, Jake quickly mumbled something about going upstairs, grabbed Casper's collar, and dragged him up the stairs.<p>

Casper followed behind quite placidly once Jake dropped the collar [the big Labrador was really too heavy for him to pull along]. Slamming his door shut, Jake slid to the ground, back resting against the door gasping for air.

Casper whined, evidently picking up on his mood.

"Timmy's... well," Jake gasped out, not wanting to verbalise the truth. "You know."

Casper whined again, bumping his soft, moist nose against Jake's arm before moving in closer to give his human a lick on the cheek. This demonstration of canine affection was enough to trigger a flood of tears. Jake buried his face in his arms, worming one hand free to give the Labrador a few rough, reassuring pats.

"Jake," Dad's voice sounded solemn and cautious as he stepped on the creaky floorboard outside Jake's door. Jake hurriedly got up off the floor, motioning Casper to the bed, which he also flopped face-down onto. "Jake?"

Jake grunted, quickly trying to rub the tears dry on his pillowcase. "Yeah?"

He heard the door open and his dad's footsteps crossing the room. The bed dipped as Dad sat down, and his warm hand came to rest on his shoulder. Tilting his head ever so slightly, Jake managed to get a glimpse of his dad's worried expression, but ensured his own face remained obscured.

"Hey buddy," Dad said softly. Jake remained silent, certain his voice would give him away. He had to be strong, Dad expected him to be strong. "The funeral's to start tomorrow at eleven, so if you still want to go, we'll need to leave at 10.30, okay?"

"Have to go," Jake's words were muffled by his Top Gear pillow.

"Okay," Dad said gently, rubbing the boy's shoulder. His voice softened, and he said in his awkward kind of way, "I know this is hard, Jake-"

"I just wanna be alone for a bit, Dad," Jake's voice sounded reedy and thin even to him as he interrupted, but if Dad kept talking like that he knew he'd cry then Dad would sit there silently and uncomfortably. Dad would be disappointed in him, though he'd do his best to pretend not to be. Shutting both eyes tightly, he didn't see the hurt that passed across his father's face.

"Okay, son," Neil said, fighting to keep the disappointment from his voice. "I'll just be downstairs, then, okay? If you need anything—"

"Yeah," Jake cut him off, biting down on the pillow hard to stop sobs escaping.

As the door closed again, Jake rolled over to his side, tilting his head to face the chocolate-y eyes of his puppy, barely visible in his dark room.

"It's not fair," he said. He hesitated, feeling alternately guilty and stupid for feeling guilty over telling a _dog_ the secret. It wasn't like Casper could tell anyone. Still, he anxiously waited until Dad's footsteps faded away completely before whispering furtively, "he didn't want to die, he was really scared."

The words brought on a fresh onslaught of tears, which turned into coughing sobs.

* * *

><p>The house was unnaturally still when Grace arrived home.<p>

"Boys?" she called, dropping her keys down.

"Lounge," her boyfriend's voice sounded forlornly through the hall. She headed to the lounge, to find Neil sitting on the couch, a generous glass of scotch on the table in front of him. An open, half-empty bottle next to it indicated it wasn't his first. The room was dark, the TV switched off. Neil's eyes were glassy, stress lining his face. Any anger she had felt over his recent behaviour drained away: he looked too miserable and pathetic to stay mad at.

"Hey sweetheart," his voice was low and gravelly. Grace wordlessly sat next to him, wrapping him into a hug. His arms snaked around her, clutching to her tightly.

"Heeey, lover," she said softly, pulling back and caressing his cheek with one hand. "Jake?"

He shook his head, looking wretched. "In his room, he went straight there. I tried to talk to him, but he just...he didn't want me there," Neil shrugged helplessly. "He wanted me to leave him alone I don't know what I should have done, I mean, he's only eleven I don't know what-"

"He probably just needs some time to let the news sink in," Grace interrupted his rambling, attempting to reassure him. She levelled a look at him. "You know, like some other people here who like to absorb things in private."

Neil attempted a weak smile.

"Sorry, I just didn't feel like cooking," he began, switching the subject.

"Neil, it's okay, it's okay," she said. "I'll drive out and get something—"

"No, I'll go, don't want to put you out—"

"Darling, you can't drive you've been drinking," she pointed out calmly. A small academic corner of her mind couldn't help but dryly remark how Neil was essentially a textbook example of a man in over his head. Avoidance, alcohol, attempting to do things...she just hoped to god he didn't try to fix the leaky pipe in the downstairs bathroom. He was a rubbish handyman.

"Oh yeah, I forgot," Neil said somewhat sheepishly, before his expression sobered. "What would I do without you?"

Grace's heart melted a bit at the absolutely intent expression in his dark eyes, and she leaned in to kiss him firmly.

Neil's eyes fluttered shut as her lips touched his, and he brought one hand up to cup the back of her head firmly as he somewhat desperately coaxed her lips open. He needily tangled his tongue with hers, pulling her onto his lap.

"Missed you," he growled in between kisses. While it had only been a couple of days, it had been the longest they'd gone without seeing each other for several months and she knew he'd felt abandoned. Guilt flooded through her, and she returned his kiss fiercely, hands pulling through his hair. Her senses felt on fire as his talented tongue worked its magic frantically on her mouth while his hands roamed and his groin hardened beneath her. He tasted strongly of scotch. She wondered how much he'd had while sitting down here thinking about Jake...

"Neil," she gasped, forcing herself to pull away. They certainly didn't need his eleven year old son to walk in on them on the couch the day his best friend died. That was a recipe for a high paediatric psychologist's bill if she'd ever heard one.

"I know, I know," he groaned, lips hovering just above her neck. A confusing array of emotions swept through him: worry over Jake, a sizeable amount of sexual frustration, and his own grief among them; he forced his eyes shut. They remained as they were, frozen in place for a long moment.

"I love you," she said finally, pressing a quick kiss to his forehead before sliding off his lap. "Now, I don't imagine anyone will be particularly hungry, but I'll go get burgers and chips. You," she pulled him to his feet, pulling the lapels of his now-crumpled suit jacket together in a vain attempt to straighten it out. "You go have a shower, try and sober up." His lack of response confirmed her theory; he was a little drunk. "Brush your teeth while you're there, and try to get Jake cleaned up and in his pjamas, okay."

He nodded, pressing a final kiss quickly to her temple as she headed out the door and he up the stairs.


	7. Final Bow

**Author's Note:** the angst continues for a good while, I'm afraid. The characters insisted on taking their time.

* * *

><p>The priest droned on, but Jake's attention was fixated on the slide show to his right. He was a little surprised at how fat his friend was in some of the earlier photos: he'd only ever known the other boy when they had both been going through chemotherapy. Despite this, Tim's smile was the same as it always had been. The images blurred as tears filled his eyes, and he felt grateful for the arm that snaked around him, pulling him closer to Dad.<p>

The priest made to sit down, and Tim's parents stood to go to the stand. Mr Saunders was sobbing, but Mrs Saunders seemed strangely calm as she took the paper from her husband after two aborted attempts to speak.

"Jake," a soft voice touched his hand, and Jake looked across Dad to see Grace offering him some tissues. He wasn't sure how he felt about Grace being there: on the one hand, she wasn't his mum and it wasn't like she really knew Tim. Jake couldn't really build up the energy to be angry at her though. He was too busy being mad at Dad for cutting his time short with Tim.

Everyone in the church was crying, now, halfway through Tim's sister's story about him falling out of their treehouse. Jake looked up to see his father's face set, lines carved more deeply than usual. He was surprised to see the faint sheen of tears in Dad's eyes, and noticed the way his knuckles were white as he clutched Grace's hand. Grace herself was crying quietly, reassuring Jake his own tears, falling more thickly now, would go unnoticed.

"In his final days," Mrs Saunders' calm was fracturing now as she stepped forward again as Tim's sister rushed to her dad's embrace. "In his final days, Tim was so brave. He loved life, but he faced the end with a dignity..."

Jake felt the weight of the dreadful secret he carried grow, and to his shame, tears fell faster and faster. Looking at Tim's parents, in pieces as the small coffin began its slow journey out of the church as _O Danny Boy_ sounded tinnily from the speakers, he knew he couldn't add to that pain. They wanted to remember Tim as being brave and everything.

"Thanks for coming, Jake," Mrs Saunders smiled tearfully at him outside the church. The entire process was a bit weird: everyone seemed to be hanging around. Jake had just followed Dad's lead.

"I'm really sorry about Tim," he said quietly, feeling angry at himself for not saying anything better. Sorry wasn't going to help.

Except it seemed like it did, a little.

"Thank you," Mrs Saunders dabbed at her eyes.

"You know, Jake," Mr Saunders began hoarsely. "We're very grateful for you for being such a great friend to Tim. He drew...he drew a lot of comfort from your visits. He counted you his best friend."

"He'll always be my best friend," Jake mumbled somewhat awkwardly but truthfully.

"You're a good boy, Jake Manson," Mrs Saunders told him vehemently, bending down and kissing his cheek.

"Can I –" Mr Saunders choked a little, eyes wavering between Jake and Neil. "Can I give you a hug?"

Jake wasn't sure whether the question had been directed at him or at Dad, so he looked up. Dad gave a little shrug as if to say, _up to you_. Jake nodded cautiously.

The older man knelt down and wrapped his arms around Jake tightly. Mr Saunders smelt of cigarettes and tears, some of which dripped down into his collar. Just as Jake felt his discomfort skyrocket, he breathed out heavily and released Jake, wiping tears from his eyes.

"You're a good lad," he said quietly, resting his hands on Jake's shoulders and looking at him directly with bloodshot eyes. "Take care of yourself and your parents."

Jake nodded mutely, feeling bad for feeling relieved as Mr Saunders finally stood up. The adults made their farewells, then the Saunders headed off to the next knot of people.

"Can we go, Dad?" Jake suddenly couldn't take it anymore. Everyone standing around solemnly, dressed in black, talking in low voices – what were they all waiting for? Tim wasn't going to be coming back.

"Yeah, son," Dad looked down at him and nodded sympathetically, draping an arm around his shoulder again.

* * *

><p>The rest of the day after the funeral was weird. Nobody seemed to know what to do. Grace went back to work, with a quick kiss pressed to both Neil and Jake's cheeks. He and Dad had taken Casper for a long walk around the neighbourhood.<p>

They'd only discussed Timmy once.

"You can take off as much time as you feel you need, Jake," Dad had said, looking stressed. "I'll work out something with work."

"No," Jake had replied quickly. He couldn't think of anything more depressing than sitting around at home, doing nothing.

"Okay," Dad had replied. The rest of their walk had been in silence.

* * *

><p>"Are you okay?" Grace asked, sliding under the sheets and wrapping herself around Neil.<p>

"Shouldn't you be asking Jake that?" Neil couldn't help himself, regretting the words the instant they left his mouth. "I'm sorry, I don't mean to snap at you all the time." Grace remained silent.

"I'm scared," he admitted quietly, toying with her sleeve. "Tim was doing just fine too. He did better through the initial therapy. You saw the photos; he was a much sturdier kid then my Jake's ever been. He's always been a skinny and small for his age."

"That doesn't necessarily mean unhealthier," Grace pointed out quietly.

"I know," Neil sighed. "It's just...this is so real, now. I mean, it was real before, you know, I did understand there was a chance – a not insignificant chance – but now I know Tim, knew Tim."

"He was a good kid," Grace commented quietly.

"And that's part of what makes this so... I'm sorry he died, but it's just, the main thing his death has made me feel is scared for my son - that Jake's going to not cope with this, that he's going to, you know," Neil trailed off, still unable to say it.

"Relapse," Grace finished the thought almost absently. She propped herself up on one elbow, looking him in the face. "There's nothing wrong with being scared. There's nothing wrong with you being worried about Jake. Not that that will help with the guilt."

"Yeah," he exhaled slowly, sounding entirely unconvinced. "Can we just cuddle, please? I just..."

His words trailed off, and he gestured helplessly. It was with no small measure of relief that Grace nodded and acceded to his request, snuggling closer to him. All this talking was draining for them both, and she felt sick of being constantly useless to reassure him. Like Neil, she wished that she could assure both her boys that everything would be okay.


	8. Trouble

**Author's Note: **Thank you for your feedback!

* * *

><p>"And we've got you on CCTV," Neil finished, pushing the photograph towards the suspect with a flourish as he presented the final piece of the fairly substantial, if circumstantial, evidence.<p>

The suspect was cracking, Neil noted with satisfaction. Teeth appeared, nipping at the corner of his lower lip, the other man's brow furrowed, and he could practically hear the pace of the suspect's breathing increase. This was going to be a classic interrogation.

Three knocks sounded on the door in Banksy's traditional pattern, and Neil cursed inwardly as he saw his mark jump, then glance at his lawyer who nodded reassuringly. The moment was lost as Banksy opened the door, and Neil rued the good half hour of work that had disappeared in a moment.

"Gov," at least Banksy could see that he'd come in at a bad time, Neil thought resignedly. Some of the new PCs were so green they stood there grinning like they expected an award for interrupting the interrogation.

"Interview suspended at 12.02," Neil sighed, adjusting the cuff back over his watch as he followed Banksy out, leaving Kirsty to face the suspect.

"Sorry, gov," Banksy apologised. "The school's called. About Jake."

"Oh for god's sake," Neil snapped, heading down the corridor.

"What's happened? Is something wrong?" Banksy asked compassionately.

"None of your business," Neil snapped, the barest trace of guilt twinging as he saw Banksy recoil.

Truthfully, he was nearing the end of his rope. Jake had been utterly and steadily more unbearable in the two weeks since Tim had died. It wasn't that Neil wasn't sympathetic to how his son must be feeling: upset, scared, mournful – after all, he shared many of Jake's fears. It was simply that his son was being so difficult; giving both himself and Grace attitude. What kind of father was he, that he couldn't even get his eleven year old son to open up about his grief, and what chance did he stand when Jake entered adolescence and began hitting other problems?

The more difficult Jake became, the more frustrating Neil found it. So he supposed he couldn't really blame Grace for growing more distant, and spending less time with them. All Neil could talk about was Jake, and he knew that that topic had well and truly worn out his welcome with his girlfriend. Their conversations went in a spiral, with her repeating that she needed to just be there and ask him about it, and with him repeatedly articulating his worry. It just felt like he was useless, unable to get the boy to talk or get over whatever it was, but equally unable to adopt a more laissez-faire attitude and wait for it to blow over.

"Neil Manson," he answered, picking up the phone. Banksy hovered nearby, and Neil scowled at him until the other man mumbled an excuse and left.

"Mr Manson, sorry to disturb you," came the cool voice of the school secretary. "This is Louisa McDonald from Dulwich College calling about your son, Jake."

_Oh, gee, really and here I thought you were calling to say I'd won the lottery_, Neil thought scathingly, instead replying with a non-committal, "yes?"

"I'm afraid he's been involved in an altercation with one of the other boys in his class, Lionel Matthews," the secretary continued.

"An altercation?" Neil asked sharply, sinking down onto the edge of his desk.

"A fight," the secretary clarified.

"Oh no, is he okay?" Neil demanded in concern.

"He's fine, but he broke the other boy's _nose_, Mr Manson," the secretary cut in.

"You're kidding!" Neil's exclamation was too loud, and arrested Jack in his path past Neil's office.

"We need you to come in and have a meeting with the principal."

"Yes, of course, I'll be there as soon as I can," Neil stammered, uncomfortably aware of Jack leaning against his doorway. "Good bye."

"What's happened?" Jack asked, a unique mixture of sympathy, frustration and resignation in his voice.

"Jake broke another boy's nose," Neil replied, flipping his coat on.

"What?" Jack's statement echoed Neil's earlier surprise. "Why? How?"

"Your guess is as good as mine," Neil sighed, picking up his keys. "Sorry, Jack I have to go to a meeting with the principal. I know this is so far from ideal –"

Jack held up a hand to forestall his future words. "You're having a really rough time at the moment, aren't you?" he asked gruffly and rhetorically. Jack hesitated, before continuing. Years of working with the younger man helped him see that despite the facade of cool detachment still maintained by the DI, Neil was in fact beginning to fray around the edges. Jack still felt guilty over how bad things had gotten in CID last year, after he'd failed to back Neil up. Somehow, he'd forgotten that beneath his DI's cold public image, lurked a doting father. Right now, Neil needed all the encouragement and support Jack hadn't provided the previous year. "Look, Neil, if uh, if I had one regret in life, it's that I was never there for my son. You go be there for yours. I'll handle everything here."

"Thanks, governor," Neil said, genuine warmth suffusing his voice.

"Get out," Jack tilted his head, nodding with a good-natured smile toward the door. "Before I change my mind."

* * *

><p>Despite his best efforts, Neil saw from the moment he stepped into the principal's office that he was the last one there. The silver-haired principal, Mr Jones, was listening intently to a bald man who was sitting on one of the chairs in front of the desk. Next to him was presumably Lionel, and despite himself, Neil felt a little proud of his son. Lionel Matthews had a good half-foot on Jake in height, and was obviously heavily involved in the more...brawny sporting pursuits from his build. He nursed an icepack to his nose, sniffling loudly whenever he thought nobody was looking at him.<p>

"Mr Manson," the principal said, standing up.

"Got here as quickly as I can," Neil said apologetically, shaking the other man's hand.

"This is Mr Matthews, and his son Lionel," the two fathers nodded curtly at each other, battle lines already drawn. "And this is Mr Rob Cooper, the music teacher."

Neil shook the indicated man's hand. Rob Cooper was a young, fashionably dressed man with floppy brown hair and an earnest smile.

"Call me Rob," he said almost cheerily.

"Please, take a seat gentlemen," Mr Jones indicated the one remaining chair to Neil. He took it, shooting a glance at his son who was sitting to his left, eyes downcast, but with his arms crossed and a telling thrust of his jaw. "Perhaps Mr Cooper could begin with what he observed."

"Not much, I'm afraid," Rob said seriously, obviously picking up on the tension in the room. "The boys were beginning to practice a new song in the last fifteen minutes of class, when Jake asked to be excused to the restroom. I acceded to his request, but he didn't return. I dismissed the other boys at the end of class, assuming that Jake had gone to sick bay, and locked up the classroom. When I came outside, I saw him take a swing at Lionel. I rushed over and separated the boys before Lionel could take a swing back and took them both to the Sister."

"It's true," Lionel sniffled. "I was just coming out of class with the others, he came out from the toilets, and just punched me in the face."

Neil felt an irrationally high surge of disgust at the boy's bald-faced lie. Jake would never do something like that without provocation – he was too smart to go up against someone so much bigger than he.

"Jake?" Mr Jones asked. Neil turned to watch his son, but Jake merely scowled and looked down at the floor in silence.


	9. Schoolyard bullies

**Author's Note**: Thank you to everyone taking the time to review. I really appreciate it.

* * *

><p>"Jake Alexander Manson, explain yourself," Neil demanded quietly.<p>

"It was _O Danny Boy_, Dad," Jake mumbled.

"What?" Lionel's father barked.

"_O Danny Boy_," Rob frowned, obviously not making the link. "The song I was getting the boys to start working on."

"It just came flooding back, Dad," Jake looked up to his father pleadingly, shame writ all over his face. Neil softened, seeing both Jake's red-rimmed eyes and the way the story was going. It was clear to him that Lionel Matthews was a very basic bully, the kind most commonly used as a street thug for their combination of muscles and stupidity. "I had to get out so I went to the bathroom. I was going to go back and explain to Mr Cooper why I didn't go back, but I ran into Lionel and some of his mates on the way and he...he said some stuff."

"Why didn't you come back?" Rob Cooper asked immediately over Mr Jones' aborted question about the teasing and Lionel's muttered denials.

"_O Danny Boy _was played at Jake's best friend's funeral, a little over two weeks ago," Neil answered quietly when Jake lapsed back into silence. A sudden, sharp silence fell over the room.

"I'm sorry, Jake, I didn't realise," Rob apologised immediately.

"You weren't to know," Neil assured the other man.

"What did you say, Lionel?" Mr Matthew's voice was sharp as he questioned his son.

"I just asked him why he was crying," the boy snivelled.

"Then you said it was no wonder," Jake's voice choked indignantly. "No wonder Timmy died if he was a wimp like me and cried at songs. But it's not true! It's not his fault he died!"

"You're not a wimp, son, and neither was Tim," Neil said firmly, unable to disguise the anger that flared up on his son's behalf. He reached over and placed his hand over Jake's. "And no-one with an ounce of understanding about leukaemia will ever say that about you or him."

"So you punched him," Mr Jones looked uncomfortable and out of his depth. On one side of the table you had a boy in angry tears with an obviously furious police officer of a father, and on the other, a boy who'd shrunk back at the immediate condemnation on the faces of everyone in the room. Mr Matthews turned on his son.

"Is this true, Lionel?" he demanded, disappointment evident. "And don't even think about lying to me, boy."

"Was just a joke," he mumbled.

"My best friend's dead, that's not a joke!" Jake shouted. Neil remained silent, unwilling to condemn his son for speaking out about this – had he been Jake, he would doubtless have done the same thing. A man had to stand up for himself and his friends, and while Jake hadn't chosen the best way to do that, Neil was not going to fault him for giving a bully a well-deserved punch in the face.

"No, it's not a joke, Jake," Rob was the only one to speak into the charged silence that followed. "I think Lionel's beginning to see that."

"No matter the provocation," Mr Jones began uncomfortably. "And I recognise that...the fact remains that Jake did punch Lionel. Sister thinks his nose has been broken."

"Under the circumstances," Mr Matthew sounded ashamed. "I don't think a punishment is really appropriate. I think most people would have done as Jake did at his age. I know I certainly would have." He hesitated before continuing, "I am sorry. I think... Lionel's mum and I are getting a divorce and I think that's made him ... well, he's not reacting well to it."

"Mr Manson?" the principal prompted. Neil glanced at the other father, feeling a twinge of sympathy. He'd been there too.

"Perhaps an apology from both sides," Neil suggested. "Jake for escalating it to a physical conflict, and Lionel for the initial insult."

"That sounds very fair to me," Mr Matthews said. "Lionel?"

"I'm sorry, Jake, for being mean," the boy said quickly, recognising that the atmosphere in the room was very much on the smaller boy's side.

"Sorry, Lionel," Jake mumbled unconvincingly after Neil glared at him.

"Well, we won't suspend either boy given the ... unique circumstances," Mr Jones said. "But I know Lionel really ought to see a doctor – Sister Wyatt is convinced it's not a serious break, which was why we held this meeting before letting him go – and I think perhaps Jake should take the rest of the day off school as well. If this should happen again, boys, rest assured that you will not be let off so lightly. Do you understand?"

"Yes, sir," both boys mumbled. The principal nodded with finality, and after a round of handshakes, dismissed them all.

* * *

><p>"Do you have to go back to the office?" Jake asked as they drove out of the carpark.<p>

"I hope not," Neil replied. "Certainly not yet, I think we need to talk."

"I thought everyone said I wasn't in trouble," Jake replied plaintively.

"You're not, I certainly don't blame you for it. It wasn't, perhaps, the best response, but it was a reasonable one," Neil hurried to assure him. "Sometimes it helps, you know, to talk about it."

"You don't," Jake accused.

Neil sighed, switching his gaze from the road momentarily to his son who was plucking at the end of his school tie.

"No, it's something I'm very bad at," he acknowledged honestly. "I didn't really talk to anyone during your induction therapy, but that wasn't a good or admirable thing, Jake. I got very angry for minor things at people who didn't deserve to have that directed at them. Just ask Grace. I'm still working on talking about them, but it really does help."

Jake absorbed this new bit of information in silence, feeling a little guilty about taking it out on his dad despite the lack of condemnation in Neil's tone.

"Hey, where are we going?" he asked instead, realising suddenly that they were headed in the opposite direction to home.

"I made a couple of calls before I came to school," Neil replied, taking a left turn. "Just in case."

He turned into a graveyard.

"Is this where -?" Jake asked.

"Yes, I thought it might help to come here," Neil replied. "We don't have to."

"Don't you have to bring flowers?" Jake asked, brow furrowed. Neil gave a small smile, and reached into the backseat, producing a small bunch of white flowers.

For the first time in what seemed like forever, Neil was treated to a smile by his son. It was small, and tinged with more than a hint of sadness, but it was there.

They picked their way through the graves, and after two double-backs, found the grave. Other bouquets had been placed there already, and Jake carefully added his own offering to the pile.

Neil narrowed his eyes in concern, seeing that Jake was out of breath from even that small walk. Despite the backtracking, they hadn't been walking for more than five minutes, nor had they been going particularly quickly. His concern deepened when he saw Jake turn his head into his shoulder and cough – more deeply than he had been over the past few weeks. It wasn't uncommon for him to have a bit of a head-cold at this stage in the treatment cycle, but Neil tended to be a bit paranoid about such things.

He longed to pursue it, but knew that if he did, he might lose the opportunity to make Jake open up.

"Now in a better place," Jake read aloud from the bottom of the inscription. He turned back to his dad. "You don't believe in heaven, do you?"

Neil shook his head, and slowly sat down in front of the grave, patting the spot beside him. This was going to be a long conversation.

"No, I don't. That doesn't mean you can't though," he said mildly.

Jake sat down in the indicated spot, picking a blade of grass to shred.

"What do you think happens when you die, then?"

"I think that's it, game over," Neil replied. "I do think it means he won't be in pain any longer though." He paused, studying his son, suspicion striking him. "He also won't be scared any more."


	10. Reconciliation

**Author's Note:** with thanks for the reviews and apologies for the relative tardiness of this chapter. It underwent a last minute rewrite as I wasn't happy with it.

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><p>"How do you know he was scared?" the vehemence of Jake's reaction surprised him. "He didn't want anyone to know!"<p>

"He told you he was scared?" Neil ignored the question. Jake returned to picking at the grass. "Is that what's been bothering you?"

Jake hesitated. Timmy had asked him...but on the other hand, Dad already knew. Plus, Timmy had always been in awe of Dad, always saying how cool policemen were. "He told me, when we saw him for the last time," his voice cracked a little, and he wiped his nose with his sleeve. "Timmy said he was scared, that he didn't want to die but that he didn't want anyone to know he was a coward."

"Being scared does not equal being a coward, Jake," Neil said gently. "Has this been what's been upsetting you so much? Keeping this secret?"

Jake nodded.

"We're all scared of something, Jake," Neil said quietly. How pathetic a dad was he, that this sorry little secret had hurt his son so much? How had he not explained more about the nature of fear and courage, that it was what one did with one's fear that made someone a coward? "It's the great leveller. That doesn't make Tim a coward. It's what you do with the fear that counts. I think he was very brave and mature in the way he faced his illness. Not many grown men would be so determined in the face of their own death."

"What are you scared of, Dad?" Jake asked after he absorbed his dad's statement, looking up.

"Losing you," Neil replied honestly. "Or Grace."

"You mean me dying, you can say that," Jake looked back down.

"Not just that," Neil didn't share Jake's willingness to say the word. "I'm also scared that I'll lose you in the sense that you won't want to talk to me."

"Like you don't really talk with your dad?" Neil nodded in response to the hesitantly put question, and idly wondered whether his father had found out about the leukaemia from someone else.

Jake appeared to give this some thought. "That won't happen, ever, Dad," he promised impulsively. "I love you. I'm never going to stop talking to you."

Neil opened his mouth, but closed it with a snap, unable to find words to articulate how grateful he was that Jake was willing to make that promise. Not that he could ever hold the boy to it though: were Jake to ever find out the real story behind his parents' divorce, Neil suspected he would be deprived even the Christmas and birthday telephone calls he exchanged with his own father.

"I don't want to die, Dad," Jake admitted quietly, returning to staring at the grass. "Not like that. Not of cancer. Not now." Neil's heart broke.

"And I don't want you to die either," Neil sighed. "Oh, Jake, if I could do anything I wish I could promise you that it won't happen."

"But you can't," Jake sighed, tears welling up in his eyes. "It's not fair, why did Tim have to die? Why did we have to get cancer?"

"Some people, like Annie's parents or Grandma, will say it's God's will," Neil began carefully, referencing one of Jake's other hospital friends and Philippa's mother.

"If that's true, God's just mean," Jake spat. "Besides, you don't believe in God. So why?"

Neil sighed. "Religious people are able to attribute bad events to some greater plan that will eventually have a happy ending," he said. "Unfortunately, we atheists have nothing so comforting. I think...it boils down to horrible things happen, Jake, because sometimes life and the universe sucks. Big time."

"You're right, that's not very helpful," Jake wrinkled his nose.

"I can't promise you life won't continue to suck, or that it won't get worse," Neil said pragmatically, hating this conversation. "All I can promise you is that I'll always be there for you, and I'll do whatever I can to make things better. But for me to do that, I need to know what's wrong, okay bud?"

Jake stayed silent for a long moment, considering Dad's words. He couldn't deny the huge relief that came from having Tim's secret shared, and having Dad assure him that he didn't think Tim was a coward. Dad had even admitted he was scared.

"Thanks, Dad," he said finally, leaning into Dad's shoulder. The pair of them sat there for some time on the grass in contemplative silence. The silence was broken by a coughing fit from Jake.

"That's a bad cough," Neil couldn't disguise the worry in his voice. "It's gotten way worse, hasn't it?"

"Last couple of days," Jake nodded reluctantly. "I'm sure it's fine, just a cold or something."

"You were out of breath just then," Neil frowned. "Have you been feeling unwell?"

"Bit more tired than normal, but I haven't been sleeping too good," Jake admitted. "And before you ask, no, Dad, I've not been coughing anything up."

"Too well," Neil corrected absently, automatically feeling Jake's forehead.

"You're a little warm," he said dubiously.

"We are sitting in the sun in jackets," Jake argued.

Neil looked at him skeptically, but in the interests of the newly forged peace [and the absence of any major symptoms] decided to let it go.

* * *

><p>Grace smiled broadly as she spied them on the couch. Jake was fast asleep, drooling onto a pillow, with his feet resting in his dad's lap. Casper was flopped under Neil's legs, which were propped up on the coffee table.<p>

Neil glanced up at Casper's lazy whine of greeting. He beamed at her and paused the movie, leaving Darth Vader frozen mid-duel. It was quite a process for him to leave his spot, requiring him to gingerly lift Jake's legs and avoid tripping over Casper.

"Heey," he drawled, looking _far_ more relaxed and happy than since before Tim's death. Before Grace had had an opportunity to return his greeting – and question his change in mood – his lips had descended on hers in a passionately loving kiss.

"Well, hello to you too," she greeted breathlessly as he pulled back, keeping his hands firmly on her hips. "What happened? All I heard was you had to run off to the school...but I'm guessing you and Jake have worked through your differences then?"

"You should be a detective with deduction skills like that," when Neil began making jokes, it only meant one of three things: he was drunk, exhausted, or giddily happy. She hoped it was the latter. "They called me because Jake had gotten into a fight –"

"What?" Grace exclaimed, forgetting the sleeping child. She hastily lowered her voice. "Oh my god, how badly is he hurt?"

"The main injury is a set of grazed knuckles on his right hand," Neil replied dryly. "They had to sing _O Danny Boy _in music, Jake needed to ... uh... excuse himself. One of the other boys saw him coming out of the rest-room, made a comment about Tim being a coward, so Jake punched him."

"Punched him?" Grace repeated dumbly.

"Broke his nose," Neil said proudly.

"Is he in much trouble?" she demanded in concern.

"Not under the circumstances," Neil shook his head, before continuing. "I, uh, thought it might help if we visited Tim's, uh, grave. So we sat there, and talked for a while. Pretty sure we've sorted a lot of stuff out between us." He was reluctant to say anything more: Jake did seem to be asleep, but he felt it would not be right to talk about it then.

Fortunately for him, Grace seemed to understand, nodding.

"Good," she said, with no small measure of relief, leaning up to kiss him again. Neil responded eagerly, trying to make up a little for the last few weeks.

"Ewwww, Casper, they're snogging," a groggy voice complained half-heartedly. The couple broke off the kiss, turning in tandem to see Jake's face peeking over the couch arm at them. His eyes were groggy with sleep, and his short hair tousled. "Hey, Grace."

"Hey, Jake," Grace smiled at him. "Hear you and dad patched things up?"

He nodded, before reaching his arms out for a hug.

"Sorry I've been a bit mean to you," he mumbled as Grace gladly gave him the hug.

"I understand it's been a rough time," Grace accepted the apology easily, thinking to herself that Neil would not be getting off that lightly. She figured she was at least owed two weeks off cooking duty.

The peaceful atmosphere splintered as Jake let out a few hacking coughs. Immediately, Grace had released him and was kneeling down to feel his forehead. Neil returned within seconds with a thermometer, which he shoved into a mostly-unwilling Jake's mouth.

"Don't talk son, just let us take your temperature," he ordered as Jake made to protest. With a roll of his eyes, Jake did as he was told, waiting for the beep.

"Normal," Neil reported with some relief.

"It's just a bit of a cold, Dad," Jake protested. "What's for dinner?"


	11. Crashing

**Author's Note:** thank you for the reviews! :)

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><p><em>Three days later...<em>

"Good to see the top brass deserve their pay," Terry snorted, as Stevie rushed in, ten minutes late for the start of the morning shift. Banksy and Mickey laughed, as confusion swept across their DS's face.

"Eh, what's that?" she asked breathlessly, dumping her things on her desk.

"Well, you, the DI, the Super and Max...all not here and it's ten minutes past start of shift," Terry nodded to the empty office nearby.

"I've been here," Max strolled into CID. "Was downstairs grabbing a coffee, if that's acceptable, DC Perkins."

Terry made a face as Max passed him on his way to his own desk.

"Anyway, not like it's just the brass," the DS continued, a snide smirk crossing his lips as he nodded to the desk adjacent to Banksy's. "Guess which of the DCs isn't here either."

All eyes followed his nod to Grace's empty desk.

"Well, we've a pile of calls from uniform," Stone said impatiently from near Terry. "Must've just missed you, Max, but we've got a murder we need to take care of here. Smithy and Jo are in court today, and I'm the only one downstairs till one of them get back."

"Murder," Stevie frowned uncertainly. It was somewhat beyond her and Max's purview to run this kind of investigation without input from a higher rank.

"There's the Super now," Mickey pointed.

"He's on his mobile," Stone observed, craning his head to watch the Super walk down the hall to his own office. "You'll have to catch him up later." With that, he handed the paper he was holding to Stevie, and headed downstairs, passing Grace at the bottom of the stairs.

"It's like some kind of deluge, did you all plan this? Here's Grace now," Banksy noted dryly as Grace pushed the doors in to CID.

"Romantic morning with the boyfriend?" Max asked with a smirk, silencing the bustle in CID. His comment, meant as a joke, instead garnered glares from Terry and Mickey, a roll of the eyes from Stevie, and a shake of Banksy's head.

"Oh go to hell, Max," Grace snapped uncharacteristically.

There was a collective intake of breath as everyone turned around to stare at her. Max's jaw dropped.

"All right, we need to get onto this murder," Stevie interrupted, anxious to stop things getting worse as Max looked about to retort angrily, looking down at the details on the paper. "Young, IC1 male, brown hair and eyes. Found in the bushes on the corner of Claxton Street at 8.40am. He's been identified as Dean Evans, from 104 Larkmead Road, where he lives with his wife, Ashley. Grace, can you go round there and act as FLO?"

"Hold up, Stevie," Jack's craggy voice filled CID as he entered. Stevie let out a short, sharp sigh, placing her hands on her hips. Sometimes she wondered what the point of showing initiative and leadership was when all it brought was more paperwork and no appreciation.

"I just spoke to him, Grace, are you, um, you ah know you can come to me if there are any problems," he said more quietly to Grace, a unique mixture of sympathy and discomfort coating his tone. "I think it's probably best you don't take on the role of FLO or anything else similarly...uh."

"Thanks, guv," Grace interrupted, voice tight and uncomfortably aware that what the Super considered quiet was sufficiently loud for practically the entire room to hear.

"The DI won't be in today," the Super looked back up to address the group. "Can I see that please, Stevie? Thanks. Banksy, can you be FLO? Where's uniform at?" His barrage of questions stopped the half-formed questions on the lips of the other officers.

"We've done a complete search of the crime scene and cordoned it off. Sergeant Stone's conducting a door-to-door in the area. We've managed to identify him from his Oyster card, which he kept in his jacket pocket. His wallet and phone were stolen. Name's Dean Evans, and according to Crimint, he's a drama school teacher at Sun Hill elementary," Ben reported.

"Okay, good," Jack nodded. "So, Banksy's FLO. Max, can I get you handling the armed robbery reported this morning? I think Jo's on the scene there already."

"Gov," Max acknowledged, slipping into his jacket.

"Stevie, you're with me co-ordinating the search from here," Jack continued as Max headed out. "Terry, Mickey, can I get you two interviewing Dean's colleagues at the school? Grace, financials."

Everyone nodded in acknowledgement.

"Any questions?" Jack asked. The brief silence was broken by a message tone.

Grace paled, frantically fishing in her pocket for her mobile.

"He hung up on me, said a nurse was coming over," Meadows began uncomfortably, watching as Grace's eyes slowly moved back up to the beginning of the message. Surprised by the Super's odd reaction, and spurred by the DI's as-yet-unexplained absence, the office remained quiet. Some dawdled, trying to not look like they were eavesdropping; Terry, Mickey, Stevie and Banksy eschewed such attempts at subtlety, leaning in instead.

"A bed's opened up in PICU," Grace answered, a mixture of relief and worry undisguised as she tapped out a brief response.

"Oh, Grace, I'm so sorry," Banksy murmured, instantly recognising the acronym. Mickey, meanwhile, was struggling.

"PICU? What's that, eh?" he asked impatiently. Stevie and Terry stayed silent, both struck by a grave suspicion.

"Paediatric intensive care," Grace said after a long pause, eyes fixed determinedly to her mobile, despite the fact she'd already sent off the message.

"What happened? I didn't know he'd been in hospital again," Terry asked gently, reaching out to touch his friend's arm supportively.

"Took him in this morning around two," Grace said quietly. "PICU's more of a ... precautionary measure, they're just going to be able to keep a better eye on him there, and visitors are restricted so he's more isolated."

There was a long, strained silence.

_Say something_¸ Mickey mouthed at Banksy, who shrugged helplessly.

"Is it...?" Stevie's words were barely audible.

"They're doing tests," the clipped words were devoid of emotion. "Anyway, we'd better get to this murder."

With that, Grace sat back down at her desk and tapped out her password, still refusing to look at her colleagues.


	12. Waiting

_Thank you all for the reviews, as always. They really help keep me motivated to keep improving this story as I go._

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><p>Neil couldn't feel his fingers, Jake was gripping his hand so very tightly.<p>

It had been a real struggle to even get Jake to come into the hospital. Jake was scared, so much more scared than when he'd been initially diagnosed with leukaemia. Neil couldn't blame him. The stress of keeping Tim's secret had exhausted the young boy's emotional resilience. He couldn't remember how many times he'd promised Jake he wouldn't leave him. It had taken Neil a good ten bladder-bursting minutes to persuade the boy he really, _really_ had to go, and that he'd be _right_ back.

To top it all off, his last coffee had been the one Grace had brought him when she'd come back from their house with Jake's gear at around 8am. It was now 10.30am, and although the PICU bed had apparently opened up an hour before, they were still stuck in casualty. He hadn't slept more than an hour that night.

Finally, Dr Lawson materialised, seemingly from nowhere, led by her stressed looking registrar. Neil nodded briefly to the younger man, who looked exhausted after his night on call.

"Neil," Dr Lawson greeted him with her warm smile and shook his free hand. "Hallo, Jake."

Jake remained silent, tightening his grip. He tried to suppress a cough, but it came out anyway sounding rather strangled.

"Now, as you know we've had a bed open up in PICU," Dr Lawson said. "I know Julian here explained what we think, do you have any questions?"

"None, apart from why an hour later we're still in casualty," Neil said as mildly as he could. All the beds in the ward had been full last night, but casualty with its drunks, heart attacks and general chaos had only added to Jake's anxiety. "And I thought we were taking medications to prevent this kind of infection from happening?"

"Yes, that's the trimethorpim. Unfortunately, prophylactic treatment's not always effective, especially if you're under a lot of stress," Dr Lawson said delicately. She paused for another fit of coughing from Jake, before continuing with a heavy sigh. "As to the other, unfortunately we're having problems with nurse staffing in PICU. That's now been resolved, and there's an orderly on the way to transfer you up there. Dr Sanjay Kumar will be in charge of your care while you're in PICU."

"I don't want more doctors," Jake spoke up for the first time since Dr Lawson had arrived.

"Jake, Dr Kumar will look after you very well," Dr Lawson said gently. "Hopefully, you'll be back on our wards shortly and then it'll be myself and Julian. You just need some more help than what we can give you in our ward."

"Didn't do Timmy much good though, did it?" Jake demanded almost angrily. "Why will it work for me if it didn't for him?"

Dr Lawson sighed, looking suddenly tired for the first time since Neil had met her. "Jake, the thing to know about not just leukaemia but any kind of illness is that every person is unique. Biologically unique. Their bodies don't do the same thing when confronted with an illness. Some people get lucky, and their genes mean they can fight off the illness much more easily than others. Sometimes people's bodies reject the medication we use, and have such bad side effects that we can't use the dose that would be the best. People can have more than one disease and sometimes we have to weigh up which one we need to treat first," she explained carefully. "We can't guarantee that our treatments will work, but we can guarantee that without them, you'll be much worse off in a lot of cases. Jake, I think this is one of the cases where if we don't treat you, things will get much worse very quickly. I wish I could promise we can fix it, but I can't. I do promise that we will do everything we can – like we did for Timmy – to help you as much as possible. We need you to be brave and trust us."

Jake considered this carefully. He appreciated Dr Lawson not treating him like a kid and telling him what to do. If Tim could handle the treatment, so could he. He just needed to check one thing.

"You'll stay with me, Daddy?"

"I promise," Neil repeated reassuringly for the fiftieth time that morning. Jake looked up and nodded, before beginning to cough again. Neil felt tired just watching him cough convulsively.

"Good lad," Dr Lawson smiled warmly at him. "Now, Jake, we'll leave you in Dr Kumar's capable hands. I look forward to seeing you in a few days back in our ward."

Just then a young man wearing a bright red bandana poked his head through the curtains.

"Jake Manson, transfer to Paediatric Intensive Care?" he asked. Dr Lawson nodded, wished the Mansons well, and left with her registrar trailing along behind her.

Neil persuaded a reluctant Jake to release his hands, and, carrying all of Jake's stuff, accompanied his son and Bandana Boy upstairs.

* * *

><p>"I'll get that, might be the bank," Stevie called as Grace's desk phone rang for the second time. She pushed off her desk, sending her swivel chair across the department in one smooth motion.<p>

"DS Moss," she answered.

"Where's Grace?" an angry-sounding female voice demanded. Stevie felt her hackles rise; Grace didn't need someone to be aggressive with her today.

"She's not here at the moment," Stevie replied coolly. "Who's speaking?"

"Philippa Pearson," the woman replied. The name was familiar. "Neil's ex-wife. Now, I need to speak to Grace immediately."

Oh. This was a little awkward, Stevie thought to herself. "If you're happy to hold on to the line, I'll go find her."

"Quickly, please," Philippa snapped. Stevie felt a little bad for taking such pleasure in punching the hold button; after all, Jake was her son too, but the DI's ex hadn't made the best impression. She wondered absently where Jake had gotten his usually cheerful and cheeky personality from – it certainly wasn't the DI, and she was suspecting he hadn't gotten it from Philippa either.

"Anyone know where Grace is?" Stevie called.

"Probably went down to get a coffee," Banksy replied. He frowned. "Is it the DI? Is it bad news?"

"No, but I'll bet she wishes it were the DI instead," Stevie replied, heading to the door. "It's his ex."

She found Grace exactly where Banksy had predicted: at the coffee machine.

"Grace, you've got a call upstairs," Stevie called from the stairwell.

"Is it Neil?" Grace grabbed the coffee which had barely finished dispensing, and hurried up.

"No, it's, uh, his ex-wife," Stevie replied.

"Good," strangely, Grace looked relieved at the news as the two women returned to the office.

"Hi Pippa, sorry, I was grabbing a coffee," she said, picking up the receiver.

"What happened?" the other woman demanded, sounding as close to panicked as Grace had ever heard the normally coldly composed solicitor.

"He woke up in the night coughing, fever was 39.3 degrees," Grace replied crisply, knowing that information was the only way to calm her down. "He was also feeling miserable and he admitted he'd been getting short of breath. We drove him straight to hospital. Dr Shepherd, Dr Lawson's registrar, was on and he doesn't think it's a relapse. He says it's probably pneumonia, but they're running tests for both. They did a chest x-ray right away, and there's definitely pneumonia, and the bone marrow biopsy's going to come back later this afternoon."

A loud clack greeted the news from the other end. "Philippa?" Grace asked, concerned.

"Grace, sorry, she dropped the phone," Liam said a few moments later, sounding relieved. "I've got you on speaker. So they've admitted him?"

"Yeah," Grace replied. "They've put him – just as a precaution at this stage – in PICU. They had a bed open up and Julian, the registrar, just said that they'd put him there to ensure he was as isolated as possible from the kids on the ward so they can't pass infections between themselves."

"Thank god," Liam breathed. "They think he's going to be okay, then?"

"He said that it's been caught early, and his lungs don't look as bad as they might have done," Grace quoted the doctor carefully. "But it depends on the biopsy results, and the culture results. She said that the antibiotics take between 24 and 48 hours to work, so they're just going to have to support him through till then. It's...it's likely he'll get worse before he gets better because the antibiotics take so long to work."

"That's as good a prognosis as we can expect, I guess," Pippa's voice was muffled.

"Look, we've only just docked in Turkey," Liam said apologetically. "No signal in the Mediterranean, so we only just got Neil's voicemails."

"We figured as much," Grace replied.

"We'll see what we can do to get flights to London ASAP, but I've done a quick search already of flights leaving here today, and it doesn't look like anything is available. The ship leaves here tonight, so I'm thinking we might be better off if we just stay on the cruise, and book tickets ahead in Greece to come back to London," Liam explained.

"Okay," Grace nodded. "When does the ship leave Turkey, Liam?"

"Umm..." there was shuffling of papers. "Around 10pm, I think."

"Well, we'll have the biopsy well before then hopefully, so I'll call you as soon as Neil calls me."

"Thanks, Grace," Pippa said, sounding genuinely grateful. "If we need to call you –"

"Call the mobile – I'm on desk work, so I'll have it on all day. You have my number?" Liam didn't, so Grace patiently waited for him to locate a pen before rattling it off.

"Okay. We'll let you know about flights and... yeah," Liam said. "Thanks, Grace. Talk to you soon, hopefully."

"Hopefully," Grace replied. "Bye."


	13. Fragmentation

**Author's Note: **As always, thank you to those taking the time to review :) Additional warning for this chapter: there be profanity ahead!

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><p>He was unaware of the time, or of the stiffness in his joints. All that mattered was that the heart monitor beeped softly, its green numbers faithfully recording each beat. Neil was only peripherally aware of the numbers; so long as the beeps continued, he was content to fix his gaze on the slight rise and fall of his son's chest, absently caressing the hand clasped like a lifeline softly.<p>

He was exhausted. Not physically, no, in some ways Neil had never felt more awake. He was tired of waiting, of hoping for the antibiotics dripping almost audibly through the central line to work. He was tired of Jake being sick. He was tired of having so much time to sit around and brood about all the possible outcomes without being able to do anything at all to affect them. Sure, the bone marrow aspirate had confirmed that it _wasn't_ leukaemia. This time. That gave no guarantees for the future, and, moreover, the pneumonia Jake had could itself kill him. The doctors only thought they knew what it was, but they had to wait [again] for the culture results to come back to tell them what particular bacteria it was. They'd simply given him their best guess of antibiotics. Although Neil kept replaying Dr Lawson's words about how the antibiotics would take up to 48 hours to work, all he could see was that Jake was getting worse, not better. They'd had to put him on oxygen again, and when he was awake, he could barely keep from coughing. He'd lost so much weight already, and seemed close to the size he was during the harsher chemotherapy.

"Neil," the tone of her voice, although gentle, clearly indicated that she'd already said his name more than once. Neil blinked and became aware of her hand resting on his shoulder.

"Hi," his voice was hoarse from disuse. His muscles, stiff from sitting still in a chair for what must have been all night, protested against being moved.

"How are you coping?" Grace asked softly.

Neil didn't answer immediately, instead reaching forward with both arms to stretch with a groan.

"There's this quote," he said, tilting his neck either way to work the kinks out. "_Sit, be still, and listen, because we're drunk and at the edge of the roof. _I kind of feel like that's us."

Goosebumps prickled along Grace's skin. Somehow, without even describing any kind of feelings, Neil's quote described exactly how she felt: drunk, disoriented, exhausted, on top of a roof on a still dark night with no way to see the ground below.

"Did you sleep well?"

"No," Grace admitted after a beat, too tired to lie. "I'm just...I'm worried about Jake, I'm worried about you, I'm just... well, you know."

"Yeah," they eyed each other for a moment, before sighing. "C'mere."

Grace obediently stepped into his outstretched arms, burying her face into the crook of his neck.

"Here," she said, breaking free after a protracted hug and handing him a small bag of clothes. "Go change and wash your face. I'll look after him."

"Yes, ma'am," Neil replied, heading out of the intensive care ward. Grace turned back to her kind-of-stepson. He looked so small, swamped with tubes, an oxygen mask and blankets. It didn't help that he still insisted on wearing Neil's football jersey, which was several sizes too large for even a normal boy of his age.

"Oh, Jakey," she breathed, taking up the hand Neil had been holding.

Warm arms wrapped around her waist at some point, and she relaxed into his embrace. It was a good thing she liked his cologne, she mused, as he'd rather overcompensated with it. She made a mental note to convince him that evening to use the showers in the parent's lounge while she sat with Jake. Who knew how long

"Mr and Mrs Manson," a delicate cough sounded, and Neil squeezed Grace briefly before letting his arms fall. "Sorry to interrupt, but it's nearly 8.30am."

The young nurse gave a perfunctorily apologetic smile, before hastening to the next bedside, obviously eager to have the ward cleared before the early morning rounds.

Tucking the sheets in more tightly around his son, Neil gently kissed the boy's forehead before they left the ward.

"You better head off, you're late as it is," he said as they automatically headed to the coffee machine down one end of the corridor.

"I spoke to the Super, it's fine," Grace replied. "I wanted to know what the doctors said before I left - it'll save you the phone calls."

Years of working with him had made her very sensitive to the little things that told of his current mood. Neil pounded the button for coffee a second time.

"What?" she asked sharply.

"I'm sorry, you shouldn't be doing the calls," Neil muttered with a shake of his head.

"I don't mind, it saves you the stress of talking to Philippa," Grace tried to inject some levity, but the line fell flat.

"Well, I shouldn't be making you handle my ex-wife," he repeated. "This entire thing, it's selfish. You're here, on a work day from 7am as soon as the hospital visiting hours start, after leaving late last night. You brought me clothes, you're talking to my ex-wife and everyone else."

"That's what relationships are about, Neil," Grace interjected, a funny feeling beginning to gather in her stomach.

"And what if he dies?" Neil concluded, waving a hand in the air, voice choking a little. Grace would've called it melodramatic, except for how closely Jake's pneumonia had come on the heels of Tim's death and how genuinely scared she had been that Jake had relapsed. She knew that as much as Jake relapsing scared her, it terrified Neil. "What if he dies, Grace? I don't know what happens then, but I do know that 'a mess' is a bit of an understatement to describe the state I'd be in. How is this fair to you, that you get all of this baggage, and a boyfriend who doesn't have any time for anyone except his son from a previous relationship and doesn't even remember when you've got a family function on the weekend?"

"I love that boy," Grace said quietly and firmly. "I wish he could love me as easily but Neil, that son of yours...he's an amazing boy, given how difficult his childhood has been."

Neil nodded. "But what about you?" he asked, leaning against the coffee machine to look at her. "What are you getting out of this relationship?"

Grace shook her head, unable to shake off the increasingly surreal feeling of the conversation. "Neil Manson, are you trying to convince me to break up with you _here_?" she gestured to the brown walls and coffee stained carpet of the long, narrow hospital corridor. It was too mundane a place for such a momentous conversation

"I think you deserve at least the space to walk away," Neil said quietly and seriously. "I just ... I can't help but think I'm being incredibly selfish, asking you to do all of this."

"Don't you think I'm old enough, and mature enough to recognise a relationship that's not working?" she felt somewhat vindicated to see Neil recoil visibly from her cold words. "Fuck, Neil, a relationship is about giving and taking, and right now, you need more from me."

"Right now? And what about eight months ago when I turned up on your doorstep in the middle of the night in tears because my son had a nightmare?" Neil persisted stubbornly. "What about over the next _two and a half years_ while Jake continues to have this chemo and could and probably will get more of these kinds of infections? He'll be in hospital again, they can practically guarantee it with his... his leukaemia, and that's not even going into the side effects, or the relapse possibility..."

_You make me happy, you self-righteous imbecile_. The words hovered on the edge of Grace's tongue, ready to be uttered with all the frustration she could manage when a sudden surge of doubt hit her. "Do you _want _me to break up with you?" she asked instead, cold dread settling in.


	14. Fallout

_Thank you to all my reviewers!_

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><p>"I think you deserve the chance," Neil said, refusing to meet her eyes.<p>

"What the hell does that even mean? What do _you_ want?" she demanded. Silence reigned for a long moment, before she shook her head in disappointment. "If you can't even tell me what you want, you're right, I don't know what I'm doing here."

It seemed that the hurt in her voice galvanised him into action, because just as she was about to turn and walk, _race_, away, he spoke up.

"I want us to move in together."

_This is crazy_, Grace thought, unable to suppress the near-hysterical laughter that resulted from his statement despite knowing that it would just send him scurrying back behind the walls he was so expert at throwing up. True to form, he began to do just that, posture stiffening and emotion fading away from his face and eyes. Relief flooded through her.

"You idiot," she sighed, stepping forward and pulling his lips to hers. He resisted at first, but melted as he always did when she gently nipped at his lower lip. Thoroughly kissed, Neil looked slightly mollified when she drew back, keeping her hands on his cheeks.

"Only you, Neil Atticus Manson, would go from telling a girl to break up with you to asking her to move in with you," Grace informed him, punctuating her words with a briefer kiss. "You're the most frustratingly adorable person in the world, and damned lucky I find your emotional ineptitude so endearing."

Neil frowned. "Are you complimenting me or insulting me?" he asked, before dismissing it in favour of more pressing questions. "What do _you_ want?"

"Finally, he asks," Grace exclaimed. "You could have saved me – and yourself, but mostly me – a great deal of angst if you'd just _asked _me."

"So this bit here, where you avoid answering, that's your idea of revenge, eh?"

"Something like that."

Their eyes met, and they broke out into sheepish grins.

"One of these days, Neil, you'll manage to say these significant things while _not_ in the middle of an argument," Grace said, stepping forwards into his arms.

"Here I was thinking that was part of my charm," he murmured, tucking his chin into the corner of her neck. "I'm sorry, I didn't mean to ... well...sorry."

* * *

><p>She hadn't quite meant to be <em>this <em>late, and she could feel Nate's eyes studying her as she rushed past the front desk. Neil had been right – after the initial excitement of it all, mostly everyone had seemed to have forgotten about it [except for Max, who still delighted in making snide comments whenever he thought he could get away with it – which was only when Terry, Stevie or his superiors were absent]. Still, Neil's recent absence had again highlighted their relationship, and while Grace could appreciate that many of their colleagues were genuinely interested in Jake's welfare, she still felt a little paranoid.

These thoughts occupied her until she reached the doors to CID. She was rudely broken out of her reverie by the barrage of questions she received when she pushed the doors open.

"How's Jake doing?"

"Any news?"

"You okay?"

"Woah, let her sit down, guys, stop harassing her," Grace flashed a smile at dear, sweet Banksy who came to her rescue upon seeing the slightly terrified look.

She was allowed to her chair, before the barrage began again, somewhat muted under Banksy's glare.

"Everyone, please," she held up a hand, feeling distinctly persecuted. Grace felt a new understanding of Neil's reticence to mention Jake's illness in the first place – every question, rather than making her feel better that people cared, instead served only as a reminder of the place and people she'd rather be with. "He's doing better. That's all I'm going to say."

Truthfully, it was about all they knew. Grace was still processing the shock of seeing Jake's two chest X-Rays compared. Even to her inexpert eye, the difference between the X-Ray when he'd been admitted with its clouds of white in his lungs and the X-Ray done earlier that morning had been significant. Despite his good progress, Dr Lawson had been reluctant to provide a discharge date, saying that she wanted to monitor him for another 24 hours or so before moving to the next phase of management.

* * *

><p>"Grace?" the concern in Stevie's voice jolted her back to the present.<p>

"Sarge?" Grace replied automatically, uncomfortably aware she'd drawn attention to herself again.

"I know you said there was nothing glaringly wrong with the financial check," Stevie prompted gently.

"That's right, nothing to, uh, support the idea that he's been getting, uh, I mean, that he's been blackmailing anyone," Grace scrambled to remember the conversation.

Stevie nodded, eyes lingering with concern on her. Grace flashed her a rough approximation of a smile, and fortunately the younger woman continued with the briefing.

"Grace," as the other officers began to disperse after the meeting, Grace looked up to see Stevie standing next to her.

"Sorry, got a bit distracted, Sarge," Grace said quickly, trying to head her off. She wasn't sure whether she dreaded sympathy or a telling off more, but neither sounded particularly appealing. "Won't happen again."

"I wasn't criticising," Stevie said. Sympathy it was, and Grace felt her insides clench.

"I'm fine, Stevie," Grace lied through gritted teeth. Despite the fact she was sure it was unconvincing, Stevie merely sighed heavily and followed the other officers out of the briefing room.

"What's up with her?" Jo hissed to the shorter DS, hanging back to let Stevie catch up.

"She's been like this all afternoon," Stevie's voice was uncharacteristically solemn.

"She hasn't said _anything_ about it?" Jo asked, folding her arms.

"She's 'fine'," Terry marked air quotes with his fingers, worry disguised better than Stevie but still evident in the way he immediately returned to worrying at his thumbnail.

The three officers stood clustered next to the coat rack in CID, observing their friend as she sat in the now-nearly empty briefing room, staring blankly at the folders in front of her.

"I know it's a CID thing," Stevie continued with an apologetic smile at Jo. "But you're her friend and, well, the DI's our boss. She's probably more likely to talk to you because you don't directly work with him."

"You think this is down to him?" Jo felt her hackles rising defensively at the thought.

"Well, given it's the DI's son in hospital I'd say there was a fair chance he's involved," Stevie replied dryly. "I know you don't think Neil's suited for her, but I wouldn't be attacking the man whose son is currently lying in a hospital bed in front of his girlfriend if I were you."

"When have I ever said that?" Jo protested.

"Only whenever the topic's come up and Grace or the DI aren't around," Terry muttered, raising his eyebrows in response to Jo's glare.

"I'll take her for a cuppa," Jo sighed. "If you don't need her, that is?"

Stevie shook her head. "Pretty confident we've got it sewn up. Just paperwork what needs doing now, and that can wait."

Jo nodded decisively.

"Grace," she called, walking to the door of the briefing and speaking loudly. "Coffee. Come."

The other women jumped slightly in her chair. Jo put her hands on her hips, giving her friend a look which made clear that Grace was only going to get a scene if she tried to brush her off. With a sigh, Grace collected her files and stood up, shooting Stevie and Terry a betrayed look.


	15. Confidences

_Thank you to everyone who reviewed :)_

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><p>"So, how are you feeling?" Jo asked when they'd settled down in the corner of the canteen, well away from anyone else. Fortunately some of her team were loudly holding court towards the front of the room, providing a good deal of background noise. Jo made a mental note to kick Ben and Nate back onto the streets in fifteen minutes if they didn't leave.<p>

"Stevie put you up to this did she?" Grace asked. "There's really no need –"

"No she didn't," Jo replied, only lying slightly. "You'd have to be blind, deaf and dumb to not notice you're not exactly on top of your game – and I'm none of those thank you very much. She is worried about you, though, she is your friend."

"You _know_ how fond I am of Jake," Grace pointed out defensively, shredding a napkin. "Hell, he comes in here and most of CID assembles to mother him."

"Jake _is_ precious," Jo agreed easily, biting off a comment about how that was so different to the DI. "Is he ... is he getting sicker?"

"No," Grace replied categorically. "He's improved a fair bit over the past few days. They're going to wait and see over the next twenty-four hours or so before giving us an idea of when he'll be discharged."

"So why are you more and not less distracted today?" Jo asked. Grace scowled and looked down at her teacup. "Hun, come on. It's me. I was there for you when you broke up with that accountant of yours last year."

"He was an architect, it was closer to two years ago, and it wasn't that serious," Grace replied evenly.

"I know your sister's out of the country," Jo drew her words out.

"He _works here_," she objected tiredly and without force.

"I'm your friend and I'm worried about you," Jo replied quietly. She couldn't help but smile in satisfaction as she saw the other woman give in.

"He wants us to move in together," Grace said quietly.

Jo was struck speechless, and Grace couldn't help but smile a little at her friend's dumbstruck expression.

"Wow," Jo said, brow furrowing. "Would this, uh, would this actually change anything for you? I mean, uh-"

"Am I living with him in all but name?" Grace finished the question. "Well, no. We've got a rough kind of schedule, you know, more for Jake than anything. The schedule's...expanded...in recent months, to be fair. So, yes, it would change things, but not ... well, it's not like I never stay over or anything."

"So you want to say no, but aren't sure how to not hurt his feelings?"Jo jumped to the most logical conclusion.

"No, I want to say yes," Grace groaned. "I really want to move in together."

Jo's eyebrows shot up.

"Wow," she said for the second time in as many minutes. "You're really serious about this aren't you?"

"Wouldn't be wanting to move in with him if I wasn't," Grace pointed out dryly, appreciating the humour of the conversation.

"Well, what's the problem then? You both want to move in together so do it," Jo said.

"It's not quite that simple," Grace sighed.

"Wouldn't expect it to be with _Manson_," Jo said, not unkindly.

"Well, see, he asked me just as I was about to walk out because he'd been trying to get me to break up with him," the words all came flooding out.

"Wait, what?" Jo's eyes widened. "From the top."

Grace forced herself to slow down, and related an abbreviated version of the conversation she'd had with Neil that morning.

"I'm just concerned that the reason we're both latching onto this is because...well... he's all over the place. Jake being in hospital again, it's been really stressful particularly on the back of Tim," Grace concluded. She hesitated before admitting, "I've felt a bit all over the place as well. It's so hard to watch Jake go through all of this – he's so young."

"Do you want to hear what I think?" Jo asked, mulling over the information she'd been given. Grace nodded. "I'm going to make a couple of educated guesses here, but I don't think I'm wrong to suggest that our lovely DI's been taking out a lot of his problems on you over the last few weeks."

"Been that obvious?" Grace asked ruefully.

"Well, when you go from making eyes at each other in the pub to barely talking at work, it doesn't take a detective to see something's been going on," Jo said wryly. "My point is, if even after all of that you still want to move in with him, you probably will anyway. If you can deal with Manson at his worst: grumpy, moody, snappy, and irritable, then I don't see why you shouldn't get him when he's in a good mood. If he has them, that is."

"Thanks, Jo," Grace replied warmly, looking much happier than she had. "You're right."

"Of course, the fact that you want to move in with him probably renders you certifiable," Jo dismissed the thanks jokingly.

"He makes me happy," Grace said simply and quietly.

Jo pursed her lips, feeling somewhat mournful. If they moved in together, well, that would necessarily alter their friendship. If she had a boyfriend and step-son at home waiting for her, she wouldn't be going out on girls' nights as much, and would always have extra priorities. "That's all that matters then," she said supportively, trying not to let a trace of her disappointment show.

A throat clearing had both women look up to see their Superintendent approaching, cup of coffee clutched in his hands like a life-line.

"Grace, just the person I've been looking for," he said in his customary gruff manner. "I've been trying to get Neil all day, but I think his phone's turned off."

"Probably," Grace nodded.

"Could you let him know that I really need him to come in to sign the paperwork for –" Jack paused, eyeing Jo. "For the, uh, Morrell case?"

Grace immediately took his meaning, and was grateful he hadn't mentioned the impending transfer in front of Jo. She didn't want that becoming gossip as well right now. "Sure, gov."

"Thanks," Jack said. "How's Jake, by the way?"

"Much better," relief coloured Grace's tone as she proceeded to update the boss.


	16. Moving Forward

"Cab shouldn't be long," Terry looked up as the Superintendant's words boomed around the room. He did a double take at the man next to the Super, before glancing in astonishment at Mickey and Stevie as if to attempt to confirm what he saw. "Thanks again for coming in, Neil. We just needed those forms submitted today."

"That's okay, gov," a barely recognisable Neil Manson replied wearily. Terry had never seen the man with a hint of stubble before – indeed, he'd always somewhat admired the younger man's ability to get such a clean shave. Today, Manson was sporting a good three or four days worth of dark stubble, disproving once and for all Mickey's theory that the DI was actually an experimental android of some kind. If stubble wasn't enough, Manson was also dressed _casually_ in a pair of dark blue jeans and a simple dark grey hoodie. "I'll keep you in the loop too."

"I appreciate it, Neil," Jack clapped the younger man on the back, before the two men disappeared into their respective offices.

"The DI owns a _hoodie_?" Stevie said incredulously.

"Probably just the most comfortable thing to sit around in a hospital in," Banksy pointed out calmly. His words silenced many of the sniggers.

The DI emerged at that point, carrying a pile of files. Ignoring the way everybody's gaze was fixated upon him, he went straight to Grace's desk and opened her top drawer.

"So, following Terry's fashion choices, gov?" Stevie asked lightly.

"Eh?" Terry felt a twinge of sympathy for the man upon seeing his face more closely. He looked ten years older than normal, dark circles ringing his eyes.

"The beard," Mickey stroked his own chin.

"Oh," the DI returned to Grace's drawer, pulling out her car keys and starting to free one from the ring. "No. I haven't been home yet."

"You didn't leave at all from when he went in?" Mickey asked in surprise. "That was days ago."

"Couldn't just leave him there on his own," the words came in a monotone.

"How is he doing, gov?" Banksy asked, drowning out Mickey's question of whether Grace liked the beard with a glare at the younger man.

"Much better," for the first time, a hint of emotion crept into the DI's voice. "He'll be discharged day after tomorrow, all things being equal."

"That's fantastic," Stevie grinned, her thought echoed by others. Neil simply nodded wordlessly, tucking the key he'd liberated from Grace's key chain into his wallet before replacing the key chain in her desk. Angling the writing pad on her desk to suit him, he began scribbling a note, oblivious to the attention of CID.

"How are you holding up, gov?" Stevie asked kindly after a beat. He continued writing for a moment, before looking up at the end of the sentence.

"I'm ... tired," he said simply, but with feeling, before going back to his note. Terry couldn't help but be surprised: it was a mark of how upset the DI must be that he didn't say he was 'fine', or dismiss it as none of their business.

After an awkward kind of pause – because what really could you say to that? – CID mostly settled back to their own work. Busy with his own message, the DI was obviously even less inclined towards conversation than usual.

"Bye gov," Banksy said as Neil righted Grace's desk before picking up the pile of files.

"Bye," Neil replied, heading out the door with no more ceremony than that. As soon as he disappeared from view, Mickey was out of his seat, tripping in his rush to reach Grace's desk.

"Oh, Mickey, come on," Banksy said reprovingly, seeing Mickey hold up the note Neil had left. He'd folded it over once, and the top flap simply read, _Grace_.

"We're detectives, Banksy," Mickey justified with a grin. "Supposed to be curious."

"Well, it's not like he's going to sign it 'Neil xo xo' is he? Knows you're right there," Banksy said caustically. "Leave them."

"Oh come on, mate, this is gold," Mickey looked for allies. "C'mon, Stevie."

"Any other circumstances I'd be right with you," Stevie admitted guiltily. "But did you see him? He's a wreck."

"Tel?" Mickey asked beseechingly.

Terry made a face. "I don't _want_ to know if the DI's sending Grace love notes. Makes me feel sick just thinking about it."

"Go on, Mickey," someone else called from their desk.

"There you go," Mickey pronounced, pointing back to the DC, as if to say one affirmative against three negatives won. He cleared his throat grandly, before beginning to read. "It says, 'Phone battery dead. P and L with him. Biopsy confirmed it's ... uh... P N E U O cyst- something or other. C X R improved. D C as planned-' God, why can't he write a proper note?"

"When a note's not for you don't be surprised you don't understand it," Banksy reprimanded, but made no move to stop Mickey continuing.

"Took your key. Will leave unlocked. Have to go back to St Hugh's around 6 – P and L jetlagged," Mickey looked disappointed. "He's just signed it, 'N'. Oh, there's a PS. 'PS. When you're done reading this to everyone, would you please make sure Grace actually gets it." His voice trailed off towards the end.

"Make sure Grace gets what?" Mickey turned around slowly, sheepishly proffering the note to Grace who glared at him. Taking it from him, she briefly scanned it before refolding and pocketing it.

"This isn't some entertainment TV programme," she addressed her colleagues coldly. "This is real life. _Jake_ nearly died. Show some basic decency and respect for Jake's privacy, if not for ours."

An uncomfortable silence descended on CID.

"Sorry, Grace," Mickey said genuinely, squirming a little with guilt

* * *

><p>Neil was reluctantly dragged from his slumber when a warm, soft weight settled over him.<p>

"That'd better be Grace and not our stupid dog," he groaned. Grace laughed, and leant closer to kiss him. Their lips finally parted, and he forced open his eyes. "Heeey."

"Hey yourself," she replied lightly, resting a hand on his cheek. "You've shaved."

"Fond as I am of looking like a Neanderthal..." Neil said wryly.

"I'm not complaining," Grace said hastily. "It tickles."

They smiled at each other for a moment.

"He's going to be okay," Grace half-asked, half-stated. Neil nodded.

"They're really impressed with the way the pneumocystis has cleared," he replied in relief.

"And we just got unlucky with the prophylaxis not working?" Grace asked.

"Yeah. Apparently it's effective in about 90% of patients," Neil shrugged. "Luck of the draw."

Grace smiled, and rested her head down onto his chest, worming one leg between his and snuggling closer. Neil's arms tightened around her in response.

"Grace?" he asked after a long moment of content silence. She looked up and rested her chin on his chest. "I...um..."

Neil spluttered to a halt, unable to articulate what he wanted to say. Instead, he leant forward and gently engaged her lips with his own, hoping to pour how pathetically thankful he was to have had her support. His hand worked its way up her back and gently cupped the back of her neck, keeping her mouth firmly against his.

"Been a shitty month or so hasn't it?" Grace asked when she regained the capacity for speech, many minutes later. Neil nodded.

"What time is it?" he switched the subject abruptly, turning his head to look at his alarm clock. "Hey, you're home early."

Grace decided to allow him the avoidance measure. Truthfully, she felt so tired even talking was a massive effort.

"Yeah, I just wanted to come home and see you," she replied. "Meadows didn't mind."

"'M glad you did," Neil mumbled, tightening his arms around her.


	17. Full Circle

_Thank you for the reviews!_

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><p>"Good night, Grace," Jake hugged her firmly. He gave Neil a second quick hug before ducking into his mum's car and waving as they reversed out of the driveway. He was going to spend the night and next morning with her, before Philippa left again for Spain.<p>

They had brought him home last Saturday. Neil had taken the whole week off, although Philippa was in town and had taken Jake each morning. Neil had used that opportunity to clear his backlog of paperwork and start reviewing personnel files for his new job with MIT. He'd been somewhat surprised to realise that with all the time spent off with Jake, the transfer date was creeping up on him. He had only two weeks to go until he transferred.

He'd relished the afternoons spent with Jake. The two had worked at repairing their relationship, and had made another trip to see Tim. Grace had even spent her afternoon off with them, and Neil knew that the memory of the three of them sitting around and watching movies, eating popcorn would be one he'd treasure for the rest of his life.

"Well, it's just us for dinner, then," Neil said, slipping an arm around Grace's shoulders. "What did you want to do?"

"We," Grace wrapped an arm around his waist as they walked back into the house. "Are going on a date and making a point not to talk about pneumonias and leukaemias. Just have fun."

"Fun? And what's that?" Neil repeated her words from the previous year.

"Catching on in some circles," Grace parroted back with a laugh. She checked her watch. "I've got reservations for us at seven, so go get ready."

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><p>"Well, we're back to where the fun began," Neil said as they settled into their seats. He'd been pleasantly surprised that Grace had booked reservations at the restaurant they'd gone to for their first date. It seemed somewhat appropriate – in a sense, he felt like he'd gone full circle with Jake being sick again. He felt the same mixture of almost giddy happiness and emotional exhaustion as he'd felt then.<p>

"And back to the old problems of work and our relationship," Grace said. "Needless to say, I much prefer them to worrying about Jake."

Neil frowned. "What's the problem with work?" he asked. "I thought the note was circumspect enough. I presumed they would read it."

Grace nodded, remembered anger coursing through her. "They did but it was fine," she assured him. "I'm more just pissed off that they couldn't recognise that this was not in any way entertaining for us. Those few weeks were all about Jake, and I think he's off limits. I don't like them talking about us, but they have no right at all to involve him."

His normal reaction to their privacy being thus invaded would have been anger, but he was in such a good mood after the week with Jake he couldn't help but grin at her instead, "You're so sexy when you're angry," he said lightly. "Particularly when it's not directed at me."

Grace grinned wickedly. "Stevie says the same about you, you know."

Neil choked on his drink, spraying beer over the table.

"_What_?" he coughed, looking both surprised and nauseated. "Why were you even talking..."

"She was trying to cheer me up after you yelled at Max," Grace smirked at his reaction. "Actually, she's been the best about this. The right balance of teasing and uninterested."

Neil nodded. "Well, I probably get on with her the best in CID – apart from you of course."

"I've noticed that," Grace said without jealousy. "I've always found it a bit strange. You're polar opposites in many ways!"

"It's going to sound a bit strange," Neil said sheepishly. "But when she first started, she well, she kind of reminded me a little of Jake."

It was Grace's turn to choke over her beverage. "I bet she'd love that," she spluttered. "Reminding you of an eleven year old boy!"

"I didn't mean..." Neil looked embarrassed and a bit flustered. "It's just, you know, when I get into a bit of a ... well, of a mood, she kind of does the same thing Jake does."

Grace frowned, considering his words. When Neil was grumpy, provided Jake wasn't in one of _his _moods, the boy would determinedly go about cheering his dad up by telling jokes. Jake was rarely phased by his dad's irritability, recognising as he did that it wasn't directed at him [usually].

"Stevie just plows into you with cheerfulness," Grace said slowly; it made a very strange, Neil kind of sense. Stevie did tend to adopt a similar tactic, and was determinedly upbeat where everyone else subsided into a wary kind of silence.

"So I'm probably a little more tolerant of her quirks than others," Neil admitted with a shrug.

Their meals arrived, and they spent a few quiet minutes eating.

"I wanted to thank you," Grace began, twirling a piece of pasta on her fork. "For not pressing me about the moving in together ... thing."

Neil shrugged, instantly wary as he looked up.

"Least I could do, given I didn't exactly ask you about it in the best way," he said carefully with a touch of self-deprecation.

She smiled at the understatement. "Let's live together," she answered, without pomp or ceremony.

A huge smile broke across Neil's face, and he leant across the table to capture her lips in a sweet, affectionate kiss.

"Really?" he asked, beaming as he resumed his seat.

"Yeah," Grace nodded.

"Brilliant. That's brilliant," he said, stabbing his fork back into his meal. "When do you want to start looking for a place?"

Grace frowned in confusion. "Look for a place?" she repeated dumbly.

"Yeah," Neil said, obviously also confused. "You know, to buy and move into together."

"Why would we do that?" Grace asked. "What's wrong with your house?"

"Doesn't seem fair to get you to move in with us, though, if we buy somewhere then we're on an equal footing," Neil explained.

"Don't be ridiculous," Grace shook her head. "It makes far more sense for me to move in with you." He still looked obstinate, so she sighed and set her cutlery down.

"I've thought a lot about it. We'd be looking for a house with at least three bedrooms, a study, a good lounge room area, a nice kitchen, a big backyard for Casper, and one that's in proximity to transport to school, Sun Hill and MIT," Grace pointed out calmly. "Your house fits all of those requirements."

"Are you sure?" Neil asked.

"Positive," Grace said with confidence. A wry grin appeared as she admitted, "plus, you've probably got half of my belongings there anyway. I'll put my apartment up for lease, and move the other half in."

Neil grinned. He had noticed the steady infiltration of Bollywood movies, teacups [she insisted on drinking out of these fancy patterned ones when at home], clothing, toiletries, and even a few of her Christmas decorations with no small measure of delight.

"True," he said. "Well, that's that question answered then."

They grinned at each other for a long moment.

"In other news, I'm back on Monday," Neil said unnecessarily. "Need to make the big announcement."

Grace shook her head in disbelief. "Can't believe how quickly it's crept up on us," she said. "What do you think of your new team?"

Neil grinned. "Hey, we'll be able to discuss work now," he said, proceeding to do just that.

Grace knew her face was adorned with a stupid smile as they discussed his new team, but she couldn't really help herself. She was about to move in with the man she loved, his son didn't hate her, they'd made it through the most stressful time she wanted to imagine and best of all, she didn't have to worry about their work and relationship any more because he was transferring.


	18. Settling

_Thank you for the reviews! Just the epilogue to go now..._

* * *

><p>Their laboured breathing filled the room.<p>

"We should," Neil paused momentarily to press a light kiss to her nose, "do this more often."

Grace laughed, running her hands through his now-messy hair. "Typical man," she said with breathless affection. He leaned forward and lazily captured her lips, eliciting a moan from her before drawing back.

"Don't hear you complaining," Neil said with a suggestive grin, stroking her bare waist. "But _I_ was talking about the date. We should make it a regular thing."

"Neil Manson, are you suggesting we have a 'date night'?" Grace asked, amused.

"Is that what the kids call it these days?" Neil grumbled. "Well, yes. I want us to _talk_, and with Jake's maintenance therapy, we'll have less time together if we don't work together. So let's make it 'date night', every month, in the second week of his cycle. We can pawn the boy off to Ricky or my sister or someone. He's getting close to old enough to not need a babysitter anyway."

Grace smiled fondly at him.

"You're a real softie, deep down," she told him, leaning up for another long kiss. "That sounds like a brilliant idea."

"I'm full of brilliant ideas," Neil replied, stroking her bare back idly.

* * *

><p>"All right, everyone, listen up," shoulder-to-shoulder, Neil and Jack strode into CID. Stevie groaned quietly; she'd had a boozy weekend and first thing on a Monday morning was <em>not<em> her favourite time for a lecture.

"There's a couple of announcements we need to make," Jack continued.

"You and the DI are getting hitched?" quipped Mickey, the only DC who would escape the Super's wrath [if not the DI's]. Everyone laughed, but he was gifted with two fierce scowls.

"Funny, Mickey," Jack said sarcastically as Neil continued to glower. "But no. Settle down, everyone."

CID followed the order with a groan: a Monday morning riot act was never a fun thing.

The two top brass glanced at each other.

"First," Neil said, looking acutely uncomfortable. "I, uh, want to thank all of you for the way in which you conducted yourselves over the past couple of weeks. The Superintendant commended you for your professionalism. Well done."

"The second thing," Jack picked up seamlessly from his DI. "I'd like to formally congratulate DI Manson on his promotion to DCI with MIT. He will be taking up that position at the end of two weeks, so for the next couple of weeks, all your case reports are to be submitted to me for final authorisation."

CID erupted into gleeful speculation about the reasons for the DI's transfer, the timing of it, potential replacements...

"Gov," Mickey called out. "Do you know who our new DI's gonna be?"

"We're still finalising the details, Mickey," Jack answered.

"Before you all get too excited," Neil said dryly. "You won't be entirely rid of me. I'm going to be in charge of this borough's MIT. Given the frequency with which people seem to get murdered on this patch, I'm sure I'll be here a lot. Anyway, I also need you all to submit any outstanding paperwork from before this week to me as soon as possible so I can go through it all."

The prospect of an even tighter paperwork schedule turned the speculative whispers into groans.

Jack did his level best to restrain a smile. "We couldn't let DI Manson go without a party, now, could we? Give him the chance to let his hair down," everyone laughed, and even Neil made the slight huff that generally denoted his amusement. "So, pub farewell, Friday week. Until then, it's business as usual, thank you."

With that, the two men headed to their respective offices, and chatter burst out again in CID.

"I don't quite understand," Banksy began, a glint in his eye as he turned to Grace. "Why the DI, or DCI, would need to be around so much – we never have MIT come out here!"

"Actually, MIT was content not to come out here because Manson spent a good six months seconded to MIT under the previous DCI, Morell," Terry answered matter-of-factly. "So he was well familiar with what they do. I'm guessing the new DI won't have had that time with MIT."

"Anyway," Mickey said with a smile. "Since when do _you_ pick on Grace?"

"Oh please, if Manson's not in the same nick I reckon it's fair game," Banksy laughed, throwing a glance at Grace as if to assure her he was joking.

Grace rolled her eyes. "Well, while you lot entertain yourselves _I'm_ going to get a coffee," she said, unable to muster up much indignation. She was too relieved over other, far more significant matters.

* * *

><p>"Grace!" Grace hissed in irritation as Jo's shout made her spill coffee on her hand just as she was about to ascend the first stair to CID. "Sorry."<p>

"It's okay," Grace said, looking to her friend who'd raced over from the other end of the corridor. "What is it?"

"So what's this I hear about DI Manson getting a job with MIT?" Jo hissed in glee.

"He got promoted," Grace couldn't hide the pride in her voice, nor did she feel inclined to do so. It was only Jo. "He's going to be heading up the team for this borough."

"And how does this relate to, you know?" Jo asked waving her hand about. At Grace's blank expression, she elaborated. "You know, moving in together?"

"What?" Grace groaned as a delighted Stevie raced down the last couple of stairs, tripping slightly as she neared the other two female officers.

"Jo," she sighed reproachfully.

"Sorry," Jo repeated sheepishly.

"Oh, please, he's being transferred," Stevie dismissed her concerns airily. "Tell Aunty Stevie! We'll all find out eventually."

"We'd hoped not to have this being passed around as gossip while he finishes up," Grace complained.

"We won't tell _anyone_," Jo swore. Nudging Stevie, she prompted the shorter woman, "Right, Stevie?"

"Right," Stevie acquiesced reluctantly after a moment of consideration. "Until the DI's gone."

Grace sighed, but figured it was as good a promise as she was going to get.

"We're finishing the move this weekend," she said quietly. "We did a lot of it last weekend, so it's just the last few things."

"So you're moving in with him and Jake?" Jo asked.

"Yeah," a silly kind of smile spread across Grace's face, despite her best efforts to suppress it. "We actually had a mini-argument about it because he really wanted us to buy a house together."

"That's so sweet," Stevie cooed with a massive grin on her face.

"Oh shut up," Grace said, without any real bite to her words. "But it's just, you know, if we wanted to buy a house, his is perfect. It's a good location, it's big enough for a teenager and a large dog..."

"When's the housewarming?" Jo prompted wickedly.

"Let's let Neil's transfer go through smoothly, and the rest of you lot become accustomed to ... us," Grace demurred hastily.

"That wasn't a no," Stevie pointed out before scurrying to the machine and ordering her coffee.

"It wasn't a yes either," Grace objected. "Anyway, we should get back to work."

* * *

><p>Jake cracked an eyelid open as the car came to a stop. Seeing they were at the traffic lights at the end of the street, he hurriedly shut them again.<p>

It had been a long tiring day. He was still a little weak, annoyingly so, but had nonetheless resolved to help Grace move as much as he could. Jake had helped Grace pack some of the boxes and helped Dad carry them to the car. Everyone had been too tired to cook afterwards, so they'd gone to a restaurant instead.

When Dad and Grace had told him about their decision to have Grace move in, Jake had been a little unsure what to think. Oh, he'd pretended to be pleased. As if he could do anything else with Dad looking so _happy_. The more he thought about it, however, the more he found he quite liked the idea. After all, he'd just spent a week in the company of both his real parents, and he'd found Mum's occasional snide comments about Dad more than a little insulting. After all, where had Mum been when he was in hospital again? When had Mum called to see about Tim?

And as for Liam, well. His stepfather had barely stayed in the UK for the first few days of him being out of hospital before high-tailing it back to Barcelona with a "get better soon, eh son?". Grace on the other hand had visited him every day, told him stories about work, cheered Dad up, and just generally been _around._

"Jake," Dad said as the car came to a halt again. Jake stayed as still as he could.

"He's asleep, Neil," Grace said quietly.

"Can you get the front door, darling?" his dad asked. Car doors shut and opened, and his seatbelt was released. Strong arms lifted him, and Jake was careful to pretend to be floppy enough to pass for being asleep. Dad carried him inside and up the stairs.

His bed was so soft and warm and gentle hands removed his shoes and socks. He could tell it was Grace who tucked the blanket around him carefully by her perfume, and that Dad was the one who gave him a slightly whiskery kiss on the forehead goodnight.

As footsteps padded out the door, Jake curled up on his side and smiled. As he drifted off to sleep, one problem occupied his mind...

_What was the best way to convince Grace to make him waffles for breakfast?_


	19. Epilogue

**A Self-Indulgently Long Author's Note****:** Thank you to everyone who has been reading this little tale, and especially those who have been reviewing. I've actually been working on this story since Reaching Normality. It was very difficult to write thematically, as I wanted to do justice to such an important topic as a child's death, but I also wanted to see where Neil and Grace went after the show. I wasn't sure I'd ever finish it, so I posted the first part as The Great Shenanigans. It's only been through the encouragement of my readers that I have actually been able to finish and publish it, so thank you very much.

I'm moving into a new phase of my life, so this will be the last proper story I will write. Keep your eyes peeled over the coming days on the Outtakes story though, as some 'deleted scenes' from this story will be popping up there. Thank you all again.

* * *

><p>"Nearly packed up there, gov?" Terry asked, leaning against Neil's doorframe.<p>

"It's amazing how much junk there is," Neil nodded, gesturing to the cardboard box into which he was placing his possessions.

Terry whistled. "Can't imagine what mine'll look like," he commented idly. "You're far tidier than I am."

Neil snorted. "Terry, my eleven year old son is tidier than you," he said dryly.

"Touche," Terry nodded.

"Come on, gov, you don't want to be late for your own do, d'you?" Stevie asked, pausing by the door.

"Just need to finish up this, Stevie," Neil replied patiently. "Besides, isn't that what they call making an entrance? You all go along ahead, I shan't be long."

CID didn't need much more convincing, eager to start the drinking early [the DI's departure was more of an excuse than anything else. Soon, it was just Neil and Grace left behind [something which Mickey had commented on rather crudely as he left].

"So," Grace said, surveying his office. It looked very different without even his few normally visible belongings – the photographs, paperweight and mug.

"There's no one else here," Neil said, raising an eyebrow suggestively.

"Neil, they're waiting for us. It's _your_ party," Grace objected.

"Humour me," he replied, stepping forward and closing the distance between them until his nose barely brushed hers. "Kind of been wanting to do this for ages."

His lips descended gently to hers. Truthfully, it had been one of her little daydreams as well, and now was really their last opportunity to use it as 'his' office.

A loud whistle broke through their little make-out session, and they broke apart to see their embarrassed, annoyed and slightly pleased Superintendant half-glaring at them.

"For heaven's sake," he said without any real force.

"Pub, Jack?" Neil asked unrepentantly, picking up his box and briefcase.

* * *

><p>"All right, all right, listen up everyone," Jack bellowed over the noise, slopping some of his fourth pint as he gestured for everyone's attention.<p>

"Oh god, you're not going to make a speech, are you?" Neil groaned loudly.

"And here I was going to be complimentary," Jack replied over the chorus of guffaws that had greeted Neil's complaint. Finally everyone settled down, and Jack resumed his interrupted speech. "I'm sure you've all heard that when I first met Neil, seven and a half years ago or so, we didn't exactly see eye to eye."

The officers who'd been there when Neil had started laughed.

"We both did some growing, and after working with him for an ungodly long time, I can say with confidence that he's one of the best DI's I've worked with. We continue to have our disagreements, but that's a good thing. Having a DI who challenges my assumptions and orders when appropriate has made me a better detective, and a better boss. So, as much as I never thought I'd say this, I'm genuinely sorry to see him go. I'm also proud of him, and I look forward to working with him as the head of this borough's MIT."

With that, Jack proclaimed the toast and everyone drank. Neil squirmed in his seat, both embarrassed and pleased at the toast.

"Speech, speech, speech," Mickey started the chant that was quickly taken up by the rest of the crowd.

"All right, all right," Neil finally acquiesced, standing and raising his own pint. "First, to one of the best coppers I've ever worked with – Jack, thank you. I'm not really someone who's very good at this kind of thing, so I'll keep it short."

He paused for a moment to gather his thoughts, before continuing slowly, "During my time at Sun Hill I've gone through some tough times, and so I know I've never been the easiest person to work with. But I'm proud of you, especially the lot in CID, because you're one of the strongest teams I've seen. It's been an honour, and I look forward to working with all of you in the future. Uh, thank you."

Everyone applauded cheerfully. It was the best kind of farewell speech, succinct and not overly cloying.

"But wait, there's more," Stevie announced. "Now, guv, we organised a bit of a collection to get you a farewell gift."

"Uniform chipped in as well," Smithy added.

"You might not be the easiest person to work with," Stevie said as Neil began to unwrap the gift [slowly, and with care not to rip the paper]. "But you're fair, and you've got our backs. We've enjoyed working with you."

Finally opening the first gift, of a long thin box, Neil began to chuckle.

"Very funny," he said dryly, taking out the tie and displaying it so all could see. It was a black tie, with a picture of Grumpy the Dwarf at the bottom and Grumpy embroidered in red. Neil undid his own tie, and quickly swapped them, knotting the new tie quickly and expertly.

"Here's your real present, Neil," Smithy said, handing him a much smaller box. Neil unwrapped this one equally slowly.

"Do you even ever use the wrapping paper you don't rip?" Banksy asked in exasperation.

Neil shrugged sheepishly. "No...not really. I just don't like ripping the paper," he said, opening the box, and smiled. "Thanks, guys, this was really nice of you."

"I wanted to get you ones to match the tie," Mickey grumbled.

"Oh, come on, Mickey, we want him to actually be able to wear them," Banksy chided.

"I will actually wear these, and I definitely have little use for Grumpy dwarf cuff-links," Neil said hurriedly, snapping the box shut on the classy set of silver cuff-links. "Thank you, everyone."

* * *

><p>"So, what do you know about the DI's replacement?" Stevie prompted Grace as she returned to the table with refills for the girls. Uniform were hunched around an arm-wrestle which Stone appeared to be winning, and the rest of CID had claimed the pool tables. Stevie, Jo and Grace had taken the chance to sit around and chat.<p>

Grace took the drink with a sigh. "Nothing," she replied.

"Surely you must know something," Jo protested.

"I honestly don't know," Grace protested. "When he first took the promotion, he mentioned a couple of names that were floating around, but it's not been mentioned since. I mean, there's been more important things to worry about, like Jake's health."

"And the housewarming party you're inviting us all to," Jo said half-jokingly. Grace rolled her eyes.

"We want to see what another nudge up the ranks will get us in the housing market," Stevie added jokingly.

"Let Neil settle down in his new job, and Jake with me, and we'll _think_ about having some people for dinner," Grace said, knowing a partial compromise would be more likely to get her friends off her case.

"Oi, what's with being all anti-social?" a flushed Mickey slurred somewhat as he reached their table. "Come on, Grace, I need a partner for the next game, once Terry and Banksy are done beating the DI and Super. Need to put Terry in his place, he's not lost tonight yet."

"Should we be offended that you've not asked us, Mickey Webb?" Jo asked in mock indignation.

"Grace's better than you," he said simply and untactfully, before turning to Grace to plead his case. "Come on, Grace, please! I'll buy you drinks if we win."

"All right," Grace acquiesced more to escape the interrogation. Sometimes Stevie could be like a dog with a bone, especially now that the new DI was about to start. She made a mental note to check with Neil whether the Super had ended up hiring Rachel back. Jo shot her a friendly glare to indicate she knew full well why her friend had agreed to be a drunk Mickey's pool partner.

"You're the best," Mickey planted a sloppy kiss on her cheek, and urged her out of her seat. Grace discretely rubbed her cheek as much as she could, returning Stevie's amused grin with a disgusted glare. The little procession headed towards the pool tables.

"Here comes trouble," the Super said, raising his mostly-empty pint in their direction. Neil glanced up from his shot briefly, before returning to sizing up the angle.

"Grace'n'me against you and Banksy next, Tel," Mickey informed the older man with a clap on the back.

_Clack!_ The white ball snapped off the side of one of the balls, sending it spinning across the faded green felt. It teetered on the edge of a centre pocket, before settling there.

"Damn," Neil swore, straightening up.

"Out of the way, Inspector Chief Detective," a clearly sloshed Banksy frowned as he moved to take Neil's place, unsure where exactly he'd gone wrong to make everyone snigger so.

"So you're stripes?" Grace asked, casually moving up behind Neil and slinging her arm around his shoulder, bringing her other arm to play with the end of his Grumpy tie. His head snapped towards her in obvious surprise, but he ignored the Terry's gagging action and Jo and Stevie's smirks to wrap his other arm around her waist.

"Why d'you always assume I'm losing?" he asked, a little petulantly.

"You usually are?" she suggested archly. "Even when Banksy's as drunk as he is."

"Well, if you'd played with me instead of Jack, and instead of gossiping, I wouldn't be losing to a drunk Banksy and too-smug Terry, now, would I?" Neil pointed out.

"So nice to have such loyal team-mates," Jack laughed.

"Please, as if you wouldn't prefer to be playing with Grace instead of me," Neil told his former boss.

"Wasn't that why we banned Grace from playing anyway?" Stevie asked, sitting herself down on a nearby bar stool.

"Yeah!" Terry said, remembering the agreement. "You agreed to not play with us again! Mickey, you have to find someone else."

As Mickey and Terry bickered over the rules, and Banksy's shot went wild, Grace prodded Neil in the chest.

"Anyway, I wasn't gossiping," she protested quietly. "I was being interrogated about the new DI, and about us holding a housewarming party."

"Well, as to the first, I did tell you it was Rachel, didn't I?" she shook her head. "Well, it will be. A housewarming?"

"I've been trying to stall them," she said.

Neil shrugged, surprisingly relaxed.

"Whatever you want, I don't mind," he said easily.

"You're okay about this?" Grace asked more than stated.

"You know it's up to you how much you want us to be 'Grace and Neil'. From my side, we're not in direct chain of command any more and I'll only be working with you occasionally. So I don't care."

Grace felt herself melt a little at the honest and matter-of-fact way he said it. With Neil, it was always a struggle, but when he got his act together... well...

As if to cement the deal, he added with a silly smile, "It's your house too, after all."

Just as Grace was seriously considering closing the small distance between their lips, Terry's dulcet tones interrupted them.

"Oi, guv, stop flirting and take your shot!"


End file.
